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3be  art  of  tbe  IPentce  Bcabem? 


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Zbc  Brt  of  tbe  Datlcan 

BY  MARY  KNIGHT  POTTER 

Zb e Brt  of  tbe  flMtti  lpalace 

BY  JULIA  DE  W.  ADDISON 

Zbc  Brt  of  tbe  3Lou\>re 

BY  MARY  KNIGHT  POTTER 

Zbc  Brt  of  tbe  IDenlce  Bcabem^ 

BY  MARY  KNIGHT  POTTER 

Zbc  Brt  of  tbe  IRational  Gallery 

BY  JULIA  DE  W.  ADDISON 
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Publishers,  Boston,  Mass. 


ASSUMPTION  OF  THE  VIRGIN 

By  Titian 


{See  page  ibi) 


be  Brt  of  tbe 
Dentce  I 
^ Bcabemv 

Containing  a Brief  History  of  the  Building  and  of 
Its  Collection  of  Paintings,  as  Well  as  Descriptions 
and  Criticisms  of  many  of  the  Principal  Pictures 
and  Their  Artists 


By 

Mary  Knight  Potter 

Author  of  “ The  Art  of  the  Vatican,”  “ The  Art  of  the  Louvre,” 
“ Love  in  Art,”  etc. 


Illustrated 


Boston 

L.  C.  Page  & Company 

MD  CCCCVI 


Copyright , igoy 
By  L.  C.  Page  & Company 

(incorporated) 

All  rights  reserved 


Published  October,  1905 


COLONIAL  PRESS 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H . Simonds  <V  Co. 
Boston , U.  S.  A. 


THE  GET™  CENTER 

UBRAK7 


[preface 


Any  attempt  to  describe  the  collection  of  pictures 
in  the  Royal  Gallery  of  Fine  Arts  in  Venice,  better 
known  under  its  old  title  of  the  Academy,  is  met 
at  once  by  a difficulty  that  no  amount  of  effort  can 
wholly  overcome.  This  difficulty  is  the  present  ar- 
rangement of  the  pictures  themselves.  Theoretic- 
ally they  are  hung  chronologically  and  by  schools. 
Actually,  with  the  exception  of  the  first  room,  which 
holds,  and  holds  only,  what  its  title  implies,  the 
works  of  the  early  masters,  the  chronology  of  the 
pictures  is  little  regarded.  The  second  room,  for 
instance,  which  leads  directly  out  of  the  first,  con- 
tains masterpieces  of  the  Renaissance  at  its  height, 
while  the  rooms  with  the  examples  of  the  works  of 
the  men  who'  led  up  to  this  height  are  numbered 
15,  16,  17,  18,  and  are  across  the  court  from  the 
first. 

Much  worse  than  this  arbitrary  numbering  of 
rooms,  however,  is  the  chronological  mix-up,  if 


vi 


preface 


the  phrase  may  stand,  within  many  of  the  rooms 
themselves.  Room  9,  for  instance,  called  the  room 
of  Paolo  Veronese,  has,  to  be  sure,  most  of  Vero- 
nese’s works  which  are  in  the  Academy.  But  with 
them  are  canvases  by  Carletto,  Palma  Giovane, 
Domenico  Robusti,  and  the  Bassani.  In  Room  10, 
again,  are  not  only  Bonifazio,  but  Palma  Vecchio, 
Titian,  Pordenone,  and  Bordone. 

It  is  easily  seen,  therefore,  that  to  keep  any  kind 
of  historic  or  artistic  sequence,  the  paintings  should 
be  considered  quite  irrespective  of  the  rooms  they 
occupy.  Since  this  book,  however,  is  intended  to 
be  of  actual  service  in  the  gallery,  it  has  seemed 
better,  if  with  some  loss  of  accuracy  and  definite- 
ness, to  treat  each  room  as  a unit  in  itself.  Even 
then  there  is  chance  for  question  as  to  the  order  in 
which  the  rooms  shall  be  considered.  As  the  work 
is  neither  a catalogue,  nor,  strictly  speaking,  a 
guide-book,  the  writer  has  chosen  the  present  order, 
as  giving,  on  the  whole,  the  best  opportunity  for 
some  sort  of  a comprehensive  view  of  the  Venetian 
painting  of  the  Renaissance. 

Another  question  was  whether,  in  a book  of  this 
kind,  it  was  worth  while  discussing  at  all  the  few 
non-Italian  pictures  in  the  Academy.  With  the 
space  needed  for  the  Venetian  School,  they  cer- 
tainly could  be  given  very  little  attention.  In  the 
writer’s  opinion,  nevertheless,  it  seemed  better  to 


preface 


Vll 


mention  a certain  number  of  them  even  so  briefly 
and  inadequately  than  to  ignore  them  altogether. 

It  is,  of  course,  needless  to  remark  that,  unless  the 
volume  were  forty  times  its  present  size,  all  the  pic- 
tures spoken  of  could  not  be  given  the  space  that 
must  be  accorded  to  those  of  the  greatest  value. 
Yet,  even  in  so  incomplete  a treatise  as  this  neces- 
sarily must  be,  it  was  desirable  that  the  reader 
should  gain  some  definite  if  slight  idea  of  the  style 
and  ability  of  the  more  unimportant  as  well  as  of 
the  most  noted  painters.  To  attain  this  object  the 
writer  has  often  given  but  a bare  outline  descrip- 
tion of  many  of  the  lesser  pictures,  reserving  all 
the  space  and  comment  possible  for  the  painters 
themselves.  It  was  believed  that  this  method  would 
bring  to  the  reader  a better  appreciation  of  these 
very  pictures  than  any  other  course  practicable. 

As  for  the  critical  opinions  expressed  in  the  book, 
the  writer,  of  course,  must  hold  herself  responsible, 
both  for  the  choice  of  her  authorities  as  well  as  for 
the  views  which  she  has  ventured  to  present  of  her 
own.  There  are,  perhaps,  no  pictures  in  the  world 
that  have  been  the  recipients  of  so  much  conflicting 
criticism  as  many  of  these  in  the  Academy.  When 
even  professional  artists  entirely  disagree  in  their 
estimate  of  such  works  as  Titian’s  Assumption  and 
Presentation,  it  is  a matter  of  considerable  difficulty 
to  give  the  ordinary  reader  any  just  idea  of  them 


Xtet  of  Ullustratfons 

PAGE 

Assumption  of  the  Virgin  (See  page  161)  Frontispiece 

By  Titian 

The  Venice  Academy 16 

Ceiling  of  the  Sala  dei  Maestri  Primitivi  . 22 

By  Marco  Cozzi 

Annunciation  . 27 

By  A ntonio  V zneziano 

Coronation  of  the  Virgin 30 

By  Niccolo  Semitecolo 

Paradise 38 

By  A ntonio  and  Giovanni  Vivarini 

St.  Barbara 46 

By  Bartolommeo  Vivarini 

Madonna  and  Child 50 

By  Luigi  ( Alvise ) Vivarinit 

St.  George  and  the  Dragon 54 

By  A ndrea  Mantegna 

Marriage  of  St.  Catherine  .....  62 

By  Boccaccio  Boccaccino 

Madonna  Enthroned  with  Sts.  Dionysius  and 

Libera  le 73 

By  Cima  da  Conegliano 

Madonna  and  Child  ......  80 

By  Jacopo  Bellini 

Madonna  with  the  Two  Trees  ....  86 

By  Giovanni  Bellini 

xi 


Plan  of  the  Venice  Academy 


true 

Hrt  of  tbe  Dentce  Hcabem\> 


CHAPTER  I. 

CONCERNING  THE  BUILDING 

A Gothic  church  Romanized,  a Renaissance 
monastery  and  cloister  modernized,  this,  largely, 
is  the  composite  structure  called  the  Accademia 
delle  Belle  Arti  at  Venice,  In  the  city  of  archi- 
tecture etherealized,  a combination  like  this  stands 
little  chance  of  being  considered  beautiful.  Indeed, 
except  for  the  importance  of  its  contents,  it  is 
probable  that  no  tourist  and  hardly  a sojourner  of 
months  would  pay  much  attention  either  to  its 
imperfections  and  lack  of  cohesion  as  a whole,  or 
to  its  very  lovely  bits  of  detail. 

These  bits  of  detail  include  the  unburned  portion 
of  Palladio’s  famous  cloister  of  the  convent  and 
three  Gothic  reliefs  on  its  entrance  wall,  so  ex- 
quisitely pure  in  style  and  so>  original  and  unafraid 


2 


XTbe  Brt  of  the  IDenice  Hcafcems 

in  treatment  that  Ruskin  does  not  hesitate  to  call 
them  “ three  of  the  most  precious  pieces  of  sculp- 
ture in  Venice.”  But  who  can  stop  to  pick  out  such 
stranded  excellences,  when  all  about  are  the  ever 
crowding  glories  of  wholly  perfect  church  and  pal- 
ace? At  its  best,  the  Venice  Academy  is  the  result 
of  a manifest  and  none  too  successful  attempt  to 
transform  antagonistic  architectural  elements  into 
a something  homogeneous  but  entirely  contrary  to 
the  initial  purpose  of  any  of  its  component  parts. 
Perforce,  therefore,  the  mechanism  of  its  construc- 
tion, its  humanness,  so  to  say,  is  the  most  evident 
thing  about  it.  It  is  this  very  humanness,  this  per- 
sistent betrayal  of  the  “ hand  of  man,”  that  alone 
would  relegate  it  to'  an  art  far  removed  from  that 
which  created  the  golden  facades  that  line  the 
Grand  Canal. 

For  it  is  not  alone  poets  or  painters  who  have 
called  the  palaces  and  churches  of  Venice  fairy- 
built  domains  or  the  architecture  of  a poet’s  dreams. 
No  traveller,  surely,  but  has  felt  the  intangible 
loveliness  o-f  those  pilastered  fronts,  so  delicate  they 
seem  like  petrified  lace,  those  windows  and  bal- 
conies with  tracery  of  spiders’  weaving,  those 
golden,  ivory,  rose-toned  marble  stairs  that  slip  with 
iridescent  sparkle  into  the  lapping  greenness  of  the 
waves  about  their  base.  And  in  it  all,  whatever  else 
one  finds,  the  hand  of  the  builder  is  never  on  view. 


Concerning  tbe  JSuiibing 


3 


The  most  literal  soul  must  feel  it  difficult  to  realize 
that  these  mansions  and  palaces  and  churches  were 
reared  brick  by  brick,  stone  by  stone,  cut  and 
hammered  and  cemented,  only  day  by  day  growing 
into  a splendour  that  so  completely  blinds  us  to  its 
builder’s  hands.  Only  the  Arabian  Nights’  sort 
of  achievements  make  a Venice  seem  possible. 

How  can  one  ascribe  its  ethereal  beauties  to 
grimy  mason  and  builder?  Rather  was  it  planned 
on  Olympus,  and  Apollo1  sang  its  formation. 
“ Frozen  music,”  as  triumphs  of  architectural  art 
have  been  called,  never  seems  so  exquisitely  appro- 
priate  a phrase  as  in  Venice.  That  is  what  this 
Queen  of  the  Adriatic  most  truly  is.  As  if  in  sooth 
the  god  of  music  had  sent  to  earth  some  rarest  song 
that  as  it  fell  note  by  note  turned  into  stone,  — and 
Venice  rose,  — song  incarnate,  visible,  undying 
melody. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  anything  less  beautiful 
than  the  general  beautiful  average  of  Venetian 
building  seems  wofully  out  of  place.  Not  only  is 
the  Academy  below  this  average  architecturally, 
but  one  of  the  principal  approaches  to  it,  the  great 
modern  iron  bridge  which  crosses  the  Grand  Canal 
and  reaches  nearly  to  its  entrance,  is  perhaps  the 
ugliest  blot  in  the  entire  city.  Nothing  could  make 
it  worse  unless  they  should  run  over  it  an  American 
line  of  trolley-cars.  Compared  with  such  blatant 


4 TLbc  Ert  of  tbe  Denlce  Ecabemp 


modern  ironmongery,  the  Academy  not  only  shows 
favourably,  but,  historically  especially,  it  has  much 
to  interest  the  student. 

A map  of  Venice  looks  not  unlike  two  clasping 
mittened  hands,  with  the  Grand  Canal  marking  the 
inner  outlines  of  the  two.  The  Academy  is  placed 
on  the  inside  curve  of  the  thumb  of  the  under  hand, 
with  the  Salute  at  the  tip  of  the  same  thumb.  On 
the  outer  curve  of  the  other  thumb  is  the  Piazza 
San  Marco,  not  far  from  the  line  of  the  wrist  and 
almost  opposite  the  Salute.  Thus  the  Academy  is 
directly  west  of  San  Marco,  separated  from  it  by 
the  width,  and  also  by  some  little  length,  of  the 
Grand  Canal. 

The  Campo  della  Carita,  as  is  called  the  little 
Square  of  the  Academy,  got  its  name  from  the  con- 
ventual church,  Santa  Maria  della  Carita,  which 
was  erected  here  about  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth 
century  by  the  Scuola  della  Carita,  the  first  of  the 
great  brotherhoods  to  be  founded  in  Venice.  This 
Scuola  had  for  its  object  the  ransoming  of  Christian 
prisoners  from  the  Turks  or  other  heathen. 

By  this  time  Byzantine  art  was  beginning  to  lose 
its  hold  in  Venice,  and  here  and  there  the  city  was 
showing  signs  of  an  individual  art  of  her  own. 
Probably  because  of  the  almost  continual  feuds  be- 
tween her  and  Florence,  she  drew  her  architects 
rather  from  Lombardy  than  from  the  Tuscan  city. 


Concerning  tbe  Builbing 


5 


Whoever  the  architect  of  the  Carita,  he  built  it  in 
the  Gothic  style,  and,  unlike  most  of  the  subse- 
quent architects  of  Venice,  he  was  uninfluenced 
by  the  Roman  or  Grecian  art.  Made  of  brick,  it 
was  not  till  generations  after  that  its  Gothic  win- 
dows were  torn  out  and  Romanesque  ones  substi- 
tuted. The  introduction  of  these  Romanesque  open- 
ings was  doubtless  the  result  of  an  attempt  to  bring 
into  better  conformity  the  old  church  with  the 
newer  convent  placed  against  it.  It  has  only  made 
the  patchiness  of  the  entire  structure  more  notice- 
able. 

At  the  time  when  the  church  was  first  built,  Ven- 
ice was  already  on  the  highroad  of  her  prosperity. 
Not  yet  under  the  dominion  of  the  fateful  Ten,  she 
was  governed  by  a council  actually  elected  by  the 
people  from  the  people.  It  was  not  till  1297  that 
this  council  had  to  be  chosen  from  among  the  de- 
scendants of  those  who1  had  once  had  seats  in  the 
body.  She  was  still  in  fact  what  for  fourteen  cen- 
turies she  was  in  name,  a republic. 

The  practical  aim  of  this  first  Scuola  of  Venice 
was  characteristic  of  the  Venetian’s  religious  life. 
He  was  much  more  ready  to  fight  for  the  Church  or 
even  to  give  great  sums  to  its  treasury  than  to 
adopt  fasting  and  prayer,  seclusion  and  abstinence 
as  signs  of  his  devotional  life.  Life,  life  in  all  its 
fulness,  its  joys,  its  excesses,  was,  even  in  the  thir- 


6 


Gbe  Brt  o t tbe  IPenice  Bcakem*? 


teenth  century,  typical  of  Venice.  Yet  she  was 
a loyal  daughter  to  the  Church,  serving  her  with 
a stout  right  arm  when  needed,  or  with  keen-witted 
craft  when  blows  were  of  no  avail.  Fairly  repre- 
sentative is  the  story  of  how  she  forced  Frederick 
Barbarossa  to  seek  pardon  from  Pope  Alexander 
III.,  whom  the  Emperor  had  shortly  before  driven 
out  of  Rome.  It  is  best  not  to  inquire  too  deeply 
into  the  chronology  or  historical  date  of  the  legend. 
Such  as  it  is,  it  shows  the  proud  spirit  of  the  Vene- 
tians as  well  as  if  it  could  be  accepted  literally. 

When  Frederick  Barbarossa  expelled  Alexander 
from  Rome,  the  old  man  took  refuge  in  Venice. 
Here,  the  legend  goes  on  to  say,  he  arrived,  a men- 
dicant in  rags,  and  his  first  night  he  spent  sleeping 
on  the  ground  near  the  Church  of  S.  Apollinare. 
After  this  he  wandered  about  the  narrow  twisting 
alleys  till  he  reached  the  monastery  of  the  Carita. 
Here  he  stayed  for  six  months,  serving  the  brother- 
hood in  the  capacity  of  scullion.  Finally,  a Vene- 
tian who  had  been  in  Rome  recognized  him,  sent 
word  to  the  Doge,  and  the  Pope  was  led  forth  from 
his  hiding-place  to  receive  the  homage  of  the  city. 
When  Frederick  swore  that  unless  the  Venetians 
gave  up  the  pontiff  he  would  plant  his  Eagles  in 
San  Marco,  the  city  answered  by  sending  a fleet 
which  defeated  the  Emperor’s  son,  made  Otto 
prisoner,  and  ultimately  compelled  the  German 


Concerning  tbe  Buiibing 


7 


Emperor  to>  bow  in  abject  submission  to  the  rein- 
stated Pope.  A very  effective  tale,  with  certain 
amusing  elements.  For  unless  the  Scuola  della 
Carita  existed  nearly  a century  before  the  date  of 
its  founding,  1260,  Alexander  could  hardly,  in 
1175,  have  taken  refuge  within  its  walls! 

Until  1552  the  Gothic  church,  with  what  adja- 
cent buildings  it  owned,  remained  practically  un- 
changed. Venice  herself  had  gone  from  one 
triumphant  splendour  to  another.  Still  a republic 
in  name,  she  was  actually  the  most  unrestrained  of 
oligarchies.  The  will,  the  caprice  of  the  secret  Three, 
the  inner  circle  of  the  Ten,  was  “ All  the  law  and 
the  Prophets  ” for  a city  that  was  already  begin- 
ning to  show  signs  of  the  wreck  her  profligacy  was 
to  make  of  her.  And  yet,  as  Sismondi  states,  even 
while  she  destroyed  every  liberty  at  home,  she 
helped  those  who  strove  for  it  abroad.  She  upheld 
Henry  VIII.  against  the  Pope;  a century  later 
she  was  an  ally  of  the  Dutch;  she  publicly  sup- 
ported the  German  Protestants  during  the  thirty 
years’  war;  she  assisted  Bethlen-Gabor  and  Ragot- 
ski  in  Hungary ; she  aided  the  Prince  of  Piedmont 
against  Philip  III.  of  Spain,  as  well  as  the  Prot- 
estant house  of  Savoy  against  the  Catholics;  she 
declared  for  Henry  IV.  against  the  League,  and 
even  lent  him  money  for  which  she  would  accept 
no  bonds  in  return,  It  has  been  said  of  Venice  that 


8 Ube  Hr t of  tbe  IDentce  Hcabemy 

“ for  a thousand  years  she  fought  for  life ; for 
three  hundred  years  she  invited  death;  the  battle 
was  rewarded,  the  call  was  heard.”  If,  in  1552, 
her  death  was  already  presaged,  few  of  her  own 
citizens  could  have  believed  it.  Not  only  were 
magnificence,  profusion  of  wealth,  every  gorgeous 
splendour  characteristic  of  the  life  of  her  nobles, 
but  there  were  practically  no  poor  within  her  bor- 
ders. And  it  is  certainly  true  that  “ if  her  people 
had  not  liberty,  they  had  order,  law,  and  a species 
of  justice.  . . . Their  taxes  were  light  and  equally 
imposed,  and  they  were  economically  expended  for 
the  glory  of  the  country.”  A motto  of  the  state 
was,  “ Justice  in  the  Palace  and  bread  in  the  Piazza.” 

Her  power  had  swept  far  beyond  her  own  bound- 
aries, and  by  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century  she 
stretched  toward  the  sea  to  Dalmatia  and  Crete 
and  inward  to  Padua,  Vicenza,  Verona,  Brescia, 
and  Bergamo,  and  was  almost  at  the  very  gates  of 
Milan.  These  cities  she  acquired  by  conquest  dur- 
ing the  fifteenth  century,  and  in  the  market-place 
of  each  was  set  up  the  Lion  of  San  Marco,  a visible 
emblem  of  their  subjection. 

The  Republic’s  aggrandizement  was  typical  of 
both  private  and  institutional  life  in  Venice.  Noth- 
ing was  too  rich,  too  costly,  too  gorgeous,  for  city 
or  noble,  for  church  or  Scuola.  It  is  probably  due 
to  the  late  adoption  by  Venice  of  the  Renaissance 


Concerning  tbe  JSuiibing 


9 


order  of  architecture  that  the  Scuola  della  Carita 
had  not  a century  before  built  anew.  As  it  was, 
in  1552,  they  called  the  architect  then  most  famous 
throughout  Italy,  and  gave  him  orders  to  construct 
a convent  worthy  of  their  own  importance  and  of 
his  genius. 

Palladio  was  born  in  Vicenza,  a town  near  Ven- 
ice, in  1508.  There  is  little  known  of  his  family 
or  of  his  first  studies.  But  however  else  he  may 
have  acquired  his  architectural  knowledge,  he  was 
undoubtedly  largely  indebted  to  his  visits  to  Rome 
for  much  of  his  later  success.  Gio.  Giorgio  Tres- 
sim>,  a countryman  of  his,  took  him  to  Rome  three 
different  times,  the  last  of  these  trips  ending  in 
1547.  While  there  he  spent  uncounted  hours  in 
measuring  the  ancient  buildings  and  making 
sketches  of  everything  he  could  use  to  advantage 
in  his  profession.  After  his  return  to  Vicenza  his 
fame  spread  all  through  Italy,  and  when  Paul  III. 
was  Pope  he  invited  him  to  Rome  once  more  for 
consultation  about  the  works  in  progress  at  St. 
Peter’s.  Back  at  Vicenza  again,  he  was  fairly  over- 
whelmed with  orders,  but  of  a private  rather  than 
public  character.  By  far  the  larger  part  of  Pal- 
ladio’s work  was  the  construction  of  palace  and 
mansion,  for  which  his  materials,  of  course,  were 
largely  of  brick  and  terra-cotta.  He  had  few  of 
the  chances  showered  upon  Sansovino  to  show  what 


io  xrbe  Brt  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabemp 

he  might  have  done  with  great  public  edifices  where 
his  materials  could  be  chosen  from  richest  stone 
and  marble.  He  seems,  however,  to  have  gloried 
in  the  very  restriction  of  his  means,  proving  again 
and  again  that  not  material  but  design,  not  im- 
posing show  but  artistic  appropriateness,  are  what 
make  a really  exquisite  building.  No  one,  it  has 
been  said  repeatedly,  ever  used  brick  so  perfectly, 
with  so  thorough  an  appreciation  and  understand- 
ing of  its  tremendous  possibilities. 

He  has  been  extraordinarily  praised  by  many 
noted  critics,  and  condemned  by  many  others.  To- 
day, perhaps,  the  feeling  is  against  rather  than  for 
him.  It  has  been  claimed,  with  undoubted  reason, 
that  he  not  infrequently  let  his  windows  break  into 
architraves ; that  he  enclosed  windows  within 
friezes,  that  he  made  doors  lower  than  windows, 
and  that  he  was  often  guilty  of  having  both  deco- 
rated and  undecorated  windows  in  the  same  build- 
ing. His  pediments,  the  critics  aver,  were  frequently 
too  heavy,  his  intercolumniations  too  wide,  and 
there  were  not  seldom  a hardness  and  monotony 
of  detail.  In  spite  of  these  or  more  faults,  it  can 
be  said  that  he  made  an  earnest  and  not  unsuccessful 
attempt  to  return  to  the  simplicity  and  classic  lines 
of  Greece.  He  was  a classicist  of  the  classicists, 
and  his  ideal  was  found  in  the  rules  of  Vitruvius. 

About  1 550  he  was  called  from  Vicenza  to1  Venice, 


Concerning  tbe  BuilMng 


II 


where  Sansovino  was  getting  old  and  infirm.  His 
first  commission  was  to  construct  a monastery  for 
the  Lateran  Canons  della  Carita,  and  this  order 
was  followed  by  others,  the  most  important  of 
which  made  him  the  architect  of  San  Giorgio 
Maggiore  and  II  Redentore.  That  Palladio  him- 
self greatly  liked  his  designs  for  the  convent  of 
the  Carita  Brotherhood  is  shown  by  the  fact  that 
he  uses  them  as  illustration  in  one  of  his  great 
volumes  on  architecture.  With  it  he  gives  com- 
plete explanation  of  all  its  parts.  Critics  have 
generally  agreed  that  these  designs  for  this  monas- 
tery of  the  first  Brotherhood  of  Venice  were  of 
real  beauty,  of  stateliness,  and  of  charm.  Unfor- 
tunately, the  building  itself  was  never  finished,  and 
of  the  part  which  he  did  complete  little  enough 
remains  to-day.  He  wrote  of  it  that  he  wished  to 
make  it,  so  far  as  possible,  like  a dwelling  of  the 
“ Ancients.” 

It  faced  the  Grand  Canal  and  was  joined  to  the 
old  thirteenth-century  church,  with  the  lines  of 
which,  of  course,  it  had  scarcely  anything  in  accord. 
In  general  plan  it  consisted  of  a large  and  smaller 
court  about  which  the  cloister  and  conventual 
apartments  were  built.  The  outer  atrium,  or  vesti- 
bule, was  Corinthian  in  style.  On  each  side  of  it 
he  placed  four  columns  of  the  Composite  order,  and 
at  the  left  and  right  of  the  vestibule  was  an  irreg- 


12 


Ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcabemi? 


ularly  shaped  room,  called  a tablino.  The  one  on 
the  left  was  used  as  the  Sacristy,  and  is  the  only 
one  now  standing.  Beyond  this  vestibule,  with  its 
side  arms  of  tablini,  came  the  great  court,  its  three 
stories  separated  by  the  columns  of  different  orders, 
— Doric,  Ionic,  and  Corinthian.  Above  this  last 
line  were  windows  which  gave  light  to  cells  lining 
the  sides.  The  columns  supported  the  wall  of  the 
building  which  separated  the  chambers  or  cells  of 
the  galleries.  By  the  side  near  the  church  at  the 
left  of  the  entrance  next  the  Sacristy,  was  a wind- 
ing staircase,  — the  beauty  of  whose  curves  and 
decorations  Goethe  praised  so  enthusiastically. 
With  the  exception  of  the  right  arm  of  the  cloister 
and  that  opposite  the  vestibule  entrance,  this  was 
all  actually  finished  by  Palladio.  He  had  also  com- 
pleted the  little  piece  which  still  exists  to'-day,  — ■ 
the  archway  spanning  the  public  alley  by  the  side 
of  the  convent,  and  connecting  it  with  the  building 
opposite  it.  The  fagade  on  the  Grand  Canal  was 
planned  to  be  practically  as  we  see  it  to-day,  — a 
marble  front,  severely  classic  in  its  lines,  with  four 
Corinthian  columns  across  its  face  and  two  smaller 
ones  flanking  each  side  of  the  doorway.  This,  how- 
ever, was  not  built  from  Palladio’s  designs,  but  from 
Giorgio  Massari’s,  an  architect  living  and  working 
a century  later. 

On  November  16,  1630,  the  larger  part  of  the 


Concerning  tbe  BullMna 


13 


work  of  the  architect  of  Vicenza  was  burned  to  the 
ground.  Palladio  had  erected  for  the  brotherhood 
a little  wooden  theatre  in  the  vestibule  of  the  con- 
vent, and  it  is  thought  that  the  fire  started  there. 
To-day  the  only  parts  of  the  building  which  are 
Palladio’s  own,  are  the  entrance  to  the  winding 
staircase  at  the  left,  the  /Sacristy  at  the  left  of  the 
vestibule,  that  side  of  the  convent  bordering  the 
Canal  St.  Agnes,  and  the  line  of  pillars  on  the 
same  side  of  the  cloister. 

Up  to  1797,  though  the  completion  of  Massari’s 
fagade  was  practically  the  only  attempt  made  to 
restore  the  ravages  of  the  fire  of  1630,  the  Brother- 
hood of  the  Carita  continued  to  use  it  as  their 
official  residence.  Lack  of  money  very  likely  was 
the  reason  for  not  attempting  any  restoration.  For 
if,  during  the  century  preceding  her  fall,  Venice 
threw  money  like  a desperate  bankrupt  bound  for 
one  long  debauch  before  the  end  of  all  things,  she 
no  longer  spent  it  for  the  relief  of  Christian  cap- 
tives. No  longer,  even,  did  she  spend  it  to  maintain 
the  political  and  territorial  supremacy  she  had  en- 
joyed for  so  many  generations.  From  the  Peace 
of  Passarowitz,  terminating  the  War  of  the  Suc- 
cession, a war  in  which  Venice  took  no  part,  she 
having  refused  to  fight  against  Austria,  from  that 
time  began  the  oppression  by  Austria  of  the  once 
dauntless  Queen  of  the  Adriatic.  Her  first  hurnili- 


i4  Ufoe  Brt  ot  tbe  IDentce  Hcabemp 


ation  was  when  she  was  forced  to  return  Morea 
to  the  Turks,  the  prize  captured  for  her  by  Moro- 
sini.  Peace  was  made  in  1719,  and  from  then,  for 
eighty  years,  Venice,  who  for  centuries  had  con- 
quered all  her  enemies,  made  no  war  and  was 
insulted  by  all  the  belligerents  of  every  side.  This 
astounding  apathy  was  caused  by  the  rottenness  of 
her  government,  by  the  weakness,  sloth,  and  wicked- 
ness of  her  nobles,  by  the  unparalleled  debauchery 
of  her  whole  public  and  private  life.  The  last  days 
of  Venice  are  synonymous  for  license,  for  voluptu- 
ousness, for  horrible  indecency,  and  for  the  worst 
form  of  oligarchical  government.  At  the  end  of 
the  eighteenth  century  the  reign  of  Venice  even 
in  her  own  borders  was  practically  over.  If  it 
had  not  been  Napoleon,  some  other  would  have 
swept  her  into  his  domains.  That  other  undoubtedly 
would  have  been  Austria,  as  indeed  later  on  it  was. 
From  1798,  when  she  fell  before  the  French  armies, 
till  1866,  when  she  finally  became  a part  of  United 
Italy,  Venice  was  the  prey  first  of  France,  then  of 
Austria,  once  more  of  France,  and  again  of  Aus- 
tria. Then  for  a short  fifteen  months,  by  hard- 
earned  victories,  she  took  her  historic  title  as  a 
republic,  only  to  be  reconquered  by  Radetzky  and 
once  more  joined  to  Austria,  under  whose  rule 
she  was  held  till  United  Italy  claimed  and  won  her. 

During  all  these  changes  the  old  convent  of  the 


Concerning  tbe  JButlMng 


*5 


Carita  remained  what  Napoleon  had  turned  her 
into.  As  early  as  1670  some  Venetian  gentlemen 
had  started  art  classes  within  its  walls,  and  a cen- 
tury later  a regular  art  school  was  established  there 
under  the  control  of  the  state.  This  existed  up  to 
the  last  days  of  the  Venetian  Republic.  During 
Napoleon’s  investiture  of  Venice  his  troops  used 
the  building  as  barracks.  Perhaps  because  of  the 
school  which  he  found  there  the  general  chose  the 
building  as  a permanent  museum  of  art.  Something 
much  more  in  the  Corsican’s  line  than  monastery 
or  convent ! Everywhere  after  his  conquering 
armies  followed  the  trail  of  closed  monastery,  con- 
vent, and  church.  When  he  entered  Venice  he 
found  more  than  a hundred  churches.  He  destroyed 
or  put  to  other  uses  almost  half  of  these  last,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  that  of  the  Armenians,  sup^- 
pressed  every  convent  and  monastery  in  the  city. 
Into  this  of  the  Scuola  di  Santa  Maria  della  Carita 
he  brought  such  pictures  from  other  closed  churches 
and  convents  as,  for  one  reason  or  another,  he  did 
not  choose  to  send  to  France.  So  was  opened  the 
Accademia  di  Belle  Arti  di  Venezia.  It  may  thus 
be  said  to  owe  its  origin  to  Napoleon’s  dislike  for 
monastic  life  and  his  distrust  of  too  great  power  of 
the  Church. 

Up  to  1829  practically  nothing  was  done  to  make 
the  half-burned  building  more  worthy  of  the  treas- 


16  XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Dentce  Hcabcmp 


ures  within  its  walls.  Even  the  ravages  made  by 
the  troops  that  camped  there  had  hardly  been  re- 
paired. Finally,  in  that  year,  the  work  of  rebuild- 
ing, under  the  direction  of  Francesco  Lazzari,  was 
commenced.  No  effort  was  spared  to  make  it  as 
nearly  as  possible  as  Palladio  had  planned  and 
partially  built  it.  So  earnest  w'as  Signor  Lazzari 
to-  accomplish  this  that  he  had  his  brick  and  terra- 
cottas made  and  cut  by  a man  who  was  a master 
cutter  of  stone,  one  Antonio  Risegatti,  while  over 
him,  to  see  that  each  piece  was  exact,  was  put 
Signor  Antonio  Mauro.  It  was  extremely  difficult 
to  get  these  bricks  and  terra-cottas  of  the  consist- 
ency, construction,  and  colour  of  Palladio’s,  for, 
since  1700,  the  old  method  of  manufacturing  them 
had  largely  disappeared. 

When  the  work  was  finished,  in  1830,  the  old 
monastery,  though  no  longer  used  by  its  disbanded 
brotherhood,  was  in  the  main  what  Palladio,  the 
Renaissance  architect,  had  meant  it  should  be : “ A 
building  in  the  style  of  the  Ancients,”  - — classic  in 
its  spirit,  in  its  lines,  and  in  its  measurements.  Less 
successful  were  the  alterations  of  the  buildings  con- 
nected with  it,  especially  of  the  old  Gothic  church 
of  the  Carita.  To  lead  from  the  reincarnated 
Palladian  structure  into  this,  it  was  necessary  to 
sacrifice  many  of  its  Gothic  characteristics.  One  of 
the  most  lamentable  acts  was  transforming  the  tall, 


THE  VENICE  ACADEMY 


Concerning  tbe  Bnilbing  17 

narrow  Gothic  windows  into1  low,  Romanesque 
ones. 

It  is  easy  to  see  how  little  outward  homogeneity 
there  can  be  in  such  a conglomerate  mass  of  build- 
ings. The  classic  faqade  of  the  old-time  convent 
suffers  from  its  joining  to  the  Gothic  church  with 
which  it  is  connected  no  less  than  the  church  itself. 
Within,  the  fine  proportions  and  the  beauty  of  the 
columns  of  the  cloister,  the  splendid  decoration  and 
noble  lines  of  some  of  the  rooms,  make  less  keenly 
noticeable  the  incongruity  of  the  whole.  On  the 
outside,  too>,  are  the  three  relics  of  the  Gothic  days 
whose  charm  no  Palladian  faqade  can  dim.  These 
are  the  marble  reliefs  which  Ruskin,  for  once  agree- 
ing with  his  brother  critics,  praises  so  highly.  They 
were  executed  in  1370  and  1379,  and,  Gothic  as 
they  are,  are  three  of  the  very  earliest  examples  of 
Venetian  art  when  it  was  first  beginning  to  break 
away  from  its  Byzantine  traditions. 

In  the  centre,  over  the  Gothic  doorway  which 

• f 

was  one  of  the  early  entrances  to-  the  Scuola,  is  the 
relief  representing  the  Madonna  and  Child,  with 
attendant  angels,  set  in  k high-arched  framing.  The 
baby  Jesus  has  his  little  hands  extended  as  if  in 
greeting.  St.  Leonard  is  at  the  left  of  the  entrance 
with  the  Gothic  cusped  framing  coming  slightly 
above  the  upper  curve  of  the  door.  The  saint, 
who  was  the  patron  of  captives,  is  represented 


is  Zhc  Hrt  of  tbe  IDertice  Hcabem^ 


with  his  fetters,  and  by  him  are  two  members  of 
the  Brotherhood  of  the  Carita.  On  the  other  side 
is  St.  Christopher,  bent  under  the  weight  of  the 
Christ.  That  none  of  these  figures  really  stands, 
and  that  their  construction  in  general  is  full  of 
archaisms,  perhaps  only  makes  more  pronounced 
the  deep  religious  feeling  shown  in  them  all. 

It  was  long  after  the  restoration  of  the  building 
before  the  pictures  were  hung  with  any  regard  for 
lighting,  school,  or  date  of  execution.  As  the  years 
went  on  the  original  collection  placed  there  by 
Napoleon  was  greatly  augmented.  Some  of  the 
newly  acquired  canvases  were  obtained  by  purchase, 
but  a large  number  were  gifts.  Among  those  most 
generous  in  their  donations  were  Girolamo  Molin 
and  Bernardo  Renier.  But  it  was  not  till  1895  that 
they  were  at  length  hung  with  some  regard  for 
system  and  chronology.  As  the  gallery  stands  to- 
day it  consists  of  twenty  rooms,  two*  corridors,  and 
one  so-called  loggia.  These  are  all  in  that  part  of 
the  building  once  used  as  monastery  except  for  two 
rooms  which  are  in  the  church.  The  lower  part 
of  Santa  Maria  della  Carita  is  now  taken  for  the 
Academy  art  school. 

In  spite  of  the  rearrangement  of  1895,  that  there 
is  still  something  to  be  done  toward  its  betterment 
is  evident.  The  unaccountable  introduction  of  much 
earlier  pictures  into  rooms  containing  principally 


Concerning  tbe  JSutlMng 


1 9 


works  of  the  late  Renaissance  is  evidence  of  the  in- 
completeness  of  the  scheme  of  placing’.  At  the 
same  time,  if  there  is  ever  any  excuse  for  the  dis- 
regard of  school  and  time  in  the  hanging  of  a 
gallery,  it  is  to  be  found  here,  rather  than  in  almost 
any  other  of  the  world’s  noted  galleries.  The 
Academy,  to  be  sure,  has  pictures  not  only  by  paint- 
ers from  all  parts  of  Italy,  but  the  Flemish,  the 
Dutch,  the  German,  and  even  the  French  schools 
are  all  represented.  Yet  it  is  safe  to  say  that  most 
students  of  art,  as  well  as  almost  all  travellers,  pay 
scant  attention  to  any  but  one  of  these  schools. 
And  this  is  not  wholly  because  the  foreign  painters 
are  in  the  main  very  poorly  represented.  Rather 
it  is  because  the  greatest  painters  of  the  Vene- 
tian Renaissance  are  here  in  the  plenitude  of  their 
powers.  And  be  the  student’s  or  traveller’s  stay  in 
Venice  ever  so  long  there  is  never  time  for  even 
the  greatest  of  their  masterpieces  alone.  Only  in 
Venice  can  the  Venetian  painters  be  truly  known, 
and  only  in  the  Academy  can  so  many  of  them  be 
seen  together.  If  some  of  their  supremest  works 
are  in  the  Ducal  Palace,  the  Frari,  San  Giorgio 
Maggiore,  or  other  church  and  palace,  many  of 
these  in  the  Academy  are  hardly  less  beautiful,  and 
in  their  variety  and  quantity  furnish  a truer  esti- 
mate of  the  real  scope  of  the  art  of  their  creators. 

Like  the  city  whose  name  christens  this  mar- 


20  Ufoe  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcabemp 


vellous  art  of  North  Italy,  the  collection  here  is 
unique.  It  must  be  judged  by  different  standards 
from  those  applied  to  the  other  schools  of  the 
Renaissance,  as  truly  as  Venice  can  be  compared 
with  no  other  city  in  the  world.  Like  the  Queen 
of  the  Adriatic  herself,  its  beauty  is  its  own  beauty, 
transcending  even  in  its  limitations,  enslaving  even 
in  its  imperfections,  till  one  forgets  Michelangelo 
the  giant,  Leonardo  the  wizard,  Raphael  the  pure 
spirit. 

Paraphrasing  St.  Victor’s  homage  to  Venice,  it 
is,  perhaps,  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  other 
schools  have  their  admirers,  the  Venetian  its  lovers. 


CHAPTER  II. 


R00M  J,  _ SALA  DEI  MAESTRI  PRIMITIVI 

The  room  of  the  early  masters,  numbered  i 
on  the  plan,  the  room  into  which  the  entrance  stairs 
lead,  was  the  so-called  Great  Hall  of  the  old  Scuola. 

It  still  has  the  richly  carved  and  decorated  Gothic 
ceiling  which  was  executed  for  the  Brotherhood 
in  the  latter  half  of  the  fifteenth  century.  For 
many  years  it  was  supposed  that  the  eight-winged 
cherubs,  which,  interlocking  and  interlacing  as  they 
do  form  the  principal  part  of  the  decorative  scheme, 
made  a sort  of  rebus  of  the  name  of  the  brother 
who  paid  for  the  ornamentation  of  this  room  of  his 
Scuola.  But  authorities  now  state  that  Cherubino 
Aliotti  was  never  a member  of  the  confraternity, 
and  that  Thomas  Cavazzo  was  the  brother  who 
gave  most  of  the  funds  for  the  work.  Marco  Cozzi 
of  Vicenza  was  the  artist  chosen  for  the  task,  and 
the  beauty,  quaintness,  and  originality  of  his  de- 
sign are  as  apparent  to-day  as  they  must  have  been 
five  hundred  years  ago.  This  elaborate  carving 
makes  both  background  and  framing  for  a centra 

21 


22 


Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Denice  Hcabems 


painted  medallion  and  four  corner  medallions,  as 
well  as  for  the  sixty-eight  portraits  in  the  arches 
below.  The  old  central  medallion,  which  was  a 
carving  representing  the  Madonna  sheltering  a num- 
ber of  friars  under  her  wide  mantle,  is  replaced 
by  a panel  painted  by  Alvise  Vivarini,  showing 
God  the  Father  surrounded  by  cherubim.  The 
panel  was  originally  part  of  a ceiling  in  the  Scuola 
of  S.  Girolamo.  In  the  corners  of  the  ceiling  are 
the  prophets  Isaiah,  Obadiah,  Micah,  and  Habakkuk, 
brought  here  from  the  Scuola  of  the  Madonna  del 
Parto',  at  Padua.  They  were  painted  by  Domenico 
Campagnola.  The  sixty-eight  portraits  making  the 
cornice  are  the  work  of  pupils  of  the  Academy  dur- 
ing the  years  1849-55,  and  are  supposed  to  be  truth- 
ful portrayals  of  the  most  celebrated  painters  of  all 
times.  All  these  paintings,  though  of  minor  im- 
portance as  paintings,  fit  admirably  into  the  general 
scheme  of  decoration,  and  with  the  elaborately 
carved  woodwork  make  an  extraordinarily  rich  and 
glowing  interior  in  which  the  very  spirit  of  the 
early  Venetian  Renaissance  seems  to  live  again. 

Although  the  room  does  not  contain  all  the  ex- 
amples the  Academy  owns  of  the  works  of  the  earli- 
est painters  of  Northern  Italy,  most  of  the  Primi- 
tives are  to  be  found  here.  From  one  point  of  view 
these  magnificently  framed  anconas  and  votive 
pictures  are  singularly  uninteresting.  Compared 


CEILING  OF  THE  SALA  DEI  MAESTRI  PRIMITIVI 
By  Marco  Cozzi 


'Room  IK — Sala  bet  /iDaestrt  iprtmitipt  23 


with  works  by  Florentine  painters  of  the  same  epoch, 
they  show  an  amazing  lack  of  knowledge  of  draw- 
ing, of  construction,  of  perspective,  and  indeed  of 
most  of  the  fundamental  rules  that  govern  the  art 
of  painting.  The  figures  are  angular  and  ugly,  the 
faces  immobile,  vacuous  in  expression,  and  deficient 
in  cranium  construction,  there  is  little  or  no  idea 
of  composition,  and  what  there  is  is  generally 
so  involved  and  disconnected  that  an  attempt  at 
straightening  out  the  unbalanced  parts  into'  a co- 
herent whole  is  mostly  fruitless.  Only  in  colouring 
does  the  school  show  at  this  early  stage  any  of  the 
attributes  that  were  to  make  it  so  famous  a century 
later. 

It  is  curious  that  Venice,  who  led  the  world  in 
industrial,  commercial,  mechanical,  and  political 
fields,  should  have  been  so  far  behind  the  rest  of 
Italy  in  art.  Not  till  the  first  half  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  nearly  a hundred  years  behind  Florence, 
does  Venetian  art  evince,  an  inclination  to  depart 
from1  its  strict  Byzantine  traditions  and  principles. 
Gradually,  then,  the  rigidity  and  angularity  of  the 
Byzantine  draperies  began  to  fall  into1  longer,  easier, 
simpler  folds,  the  colouring  becoming  more  trans- 
parent and  the  flesh-tones  growing  softer  and 
warmer.  It  is  not  definitely  decided  what  it  was 
that  gave  this  late  impetus  to  Venetian  art.  The 
critics  do  not  find  the  school  of  Giotto  responsible 


24  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcabem# 


for  the  gradual  change,  but  they  do  discern  signs 
of  the  influence  of  the  Gothic  style,  particularly, 
of  course,  in  sculpture.  The  more  strictly  Venetian 
peculiarities  of  the  school  seem  indigenous  to  the 
city  itself.  It  has  been  compared  to  the  Flemish 
school  in  certain  ways.  For  instance,  the  Flemings, 
like  the  Venetians,  preferred  their  pictures  for  the 
domestic  altar  or  as  votive  pictures,  and  therefore 
they  were  generally  made  on  much  smaller  lines 
than  the  huge  altar-pieces  of  Central  Italy,  where 
a “ whole  world  of  events  and  thoughts  find  expres- 
sion.’7 Whatever  it  was  that  finally  woke  the  paint- 
ers of  North  Italy  into  a life  that  had  vitality,  power, 
originality,  and  beauty  it  is  only  the  student  of  art 
w|ho  can  find  much  indication  of  this  awakening  in 
most  of  these  gorgeously  framed  altar-pieces.  But, 
as  has  been  said,  in  even  the  crudest,  most  archaic 
of  these  pictures  of  Madonna  and  saint,  there  is 
almost  always  the  charm  of  pure,  vibrant  colour, 
and  there  is  something  more.  Later  Venetian  art 
has  often  been  accused  of  lacking  the  religious  feel- 
ing, of  showing,  even  in  its  pictures  for  church  and 
convent,  little  of  the  piety  so  essential  a part  of  the 
art  of  the  other  schools  of  Italy.  In  the  beginning, 
however,  there  was  no1  such  lack.  In  the  most  hope- 
less of  these  early  panels,  from  an  artistic  or  tech- 
nical point  of  view,  there  is  always  a very  real  and 
living  religious  sentiment.  Fra  Angelico  himself, 


IRoom  1L  — Sala  fcei  /IDaestn  primitivi  25 


though  he  had  infinitely  more  skill,  had  hardly 
deeper  or  more  ecstatic  vision  than  some  of  these 
first  painters  of  the  Venetian  Renaissance.  Along 
with  this  feeling  for  colour  and  this  devout  spirit, 
they  had  another  attribute  that,  later,  was  to  be  one 
of  the  dominant  notes  of  the  North  Italian  painters. 
This  was  their  sense  of  reality.  In  these  first  at- 
tempts it  is  mainly  shown,  to  be  sure,  in  the  pains- 
taking and  exact  delineation  of  gilded  ornament 
and  embroidered  borders  and  figured  brocade,  but 
it  is  none  the  less  apparent,  and  must  be  considered 
an  integral  part  of  the  art  of  every  Venetian. 

One  of  the  earliest  painters  represented  in  this 
first  room  is  Antonio  Veneziano,  the  date  of  whose 
birth  Vasari  gives  as  1312.  By  Vasari,  too>,  as  well 
as  other  authorities,  he  is  called  a pupil  of  Agnolo 
Gaddi,  but  this  is  now  considered  a doubtful  claim. 
He  was  at  least  a contemporary  of  Agnolo,  and 
his  works  at  Pisa  show  strongly  the  influence  of 
Giotto.  Indeed,  he  has'  been  assigned  a place  as 
one  of  the  most  important  links  in  the  chain  that 
reaches  from  Giotto  to'  Masaccio.  Any  great  ability 
at  composition  he  had  not;  and  the  flatness  of  his 
tones  precluded  any  effective  modelling  in  flesh  or 
costume.  His  colour  was  very  pure,  rosy,  with 
much  transparence,  but  his  greatest  forte  lay  in 
depicting  emotion  and  feeling.  His  figures  are  gen- 
erally full  of  expression,  an  expression,  as  Vasari 


26  Uhc  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcafcemp 


indicates,  true  to  the  character  they  are  supposed 
to  possess.  His  most  noted  works  are  his  frescoes 
in  the  Campo  Santo>  at  Pisa, 

Antonio,  though  credited  with  being  a Venetian, 
must  have  been  educated  far  from  Venice,  probably 
in  Tuscany.  For  it  was  not  till  after  Gentile  da 
Fabriano’s  visit  to  Venice  that  Venetian  artists 
began  to  throw  off  the  Byzantine  traditions,  — tra- 
ditions which  influenced  Antonio  as  little  as  they 
influenced  Giotto  himself.  He  was  a Florentine  in 
manner,  training,  and  expression.  Vasari  says  that 
the  envy  of  other  artists  in  Venice  caused  him  to 
be  so  badly  treated  that,  after  working  in  his  native 
city  a short  time,  he  left  it  never  to1  return. 

His  little  triptych  here  recalls  but  slightly  either 
his  style  or  his  ability.  It  is  a painting  on  wood, 
representing  Christ  on  the  Cross,  with  the  Madonna 
and  St.  John.  Below,  the  Madonna  is  again  shown 
holding  the  baby  Jesus  to  her  breast.  On  one  of 
the  wings  of  the  triptych  is  painted  the  Annunci- 
ation, on  the  other  Sts.  Jerome  and  John  the  Bap- 
tist. The  traces  of  signature  have  been  made  to 

read  “ Antonius  Ven 1358,”  but  the  marking 

is  not  definite  enough  for  one  to  be  sure  that  this 
is  its  real  reading.  And,  like  many  of  the  other 
early  paintings,  this  may  one  day  be  assigned  to 
some  other  artist. 

How  little  the  Venetians  of  even  the  commence- 


ANNUNCIATION 
Antonio  Veneziano 


V ■ 


IRoont  1L  — Sala  Set  /iDaestri  flSnntitivi  27 


ment  of  the  fifteenth  century  had  advanced  beyond 
the  rigidity  and  hard  and  fast  rules  of  the  Greek 
style  of  painting,  is  vividly  apparent  in  many  of 
the  altar-pieces  in  this  room.  In  none,  perhaps,  is 
it  more  evident  than  in  the  huge  ancona,  said  to  be 
by  Lorenzo  of  Venice,  or  Lorenzo  Veneziano,  as  he 
is  called.  It  is  a huge  Gothic  framed  affair  of 
eighteen  compartments,  three  stories,  so  to  speak, 
in  height,  and  with  the  many  divisions  separated 
by  pilasters  and  heavy  stucco'  work  of  gold.  The 
central  portion  represents  the  Annunciation,  with  a 
tiny  figure  of  the  donor,  Domenico  Lion,  at  the 
Virgin’s  feet.  It  was  originally  in  the  Church  of 
S.  Antonio  di  Castello,  and  was  painted  by  order 
of  Domenico,  at  a cost,  it  is  said,  of  three  hundred 
gold  ducats.  A large  part  of  the  sum,  it  is  suppos- 
able,  must  have  gone  into  the  expansive  gold  fram- 
ing. Over  the  Annunciation,  in  the  upper  division, 
is  the  figure  of  the  Almighty,  with  a cherub  above 
each  outraised  hand.  This  portion  has  been  as- 
signed to>  Benedetto  Diana,  and  also  to  Bissolo. 
Below  the  Annunciation  are  small  half-length  fig- 
ures of  the  five  Hermit  Saints,  as  they  are  called. 
The  sixteen  other  compartments,  all  holding  saints, 
are  arranged  two  by  two  on  each  side  of  the  Annun- 
ciation and  the  panel  of  the  Blessing  Father. 
Between  each  of  these  pairs,  painted  on  the  sepa- 


28  ube  Brt  of  tbe  tDentce  Bcabems 


rating  pillars,  are  thirty-six  more  little  full-length 
figures. 

Of  the  two  other  panels  ascribed  to  Lorenzo  in 
this  room,  one  is  a tempera  painting  on  wood  of 
Sts.  Peter  and  Mark.  This  is  signed  “ MCCCLXXI. 
Mense  Novemb.  Laurent,  pinxit.”  It  was  brought 
to  the  Academy  from  the  Ufficio1  della  Seta,  Rialto. 
St.  Peter  is  at  the  left  in  a blue  robe  and  yellow 
mantle  lined  with  red,  turning  three-quarters  to 
the  right,  and  carrying  the  keys  of  his  office  in.  his 
right  hand,  a roll  of  paper  in  his  left.  St.  Mark 
is  at  the  right,  in  a blue  mantle  lined  with  green, 
his  right  hand  lifted,  holding  a book  in  his  left. 
The  background,  as  in  all  these  earliest  paintings, 
is  gold. 

The  third  Lorenzo  is  also'  an  Annunciation. 
Above  this  central  compartment  is  a representation 
of  the  symbols  of  the  Trinity,  and  at  the  sides  are 
Sts.  John  the  Baptist  and  Nicholas,  Sts.  James  and 
Stephen.  It  once  made  the  central  part  of  an  altar- 
piece  in  the  Scuola  di  San  Giovanni  Evangelista. 
It  also  is  in  tempera,  and  is  on  wood.  The  Virgin 
in  the  central  division  is  at  the  right,  her  hands 
crossed  on  her  breast.  She  is  seated,  turning  to  the 
left  toward  the  kneeling,  golden-winged  angel  who, 
in  a blue  robe  and  rose-coloured  mantle  lined  with 
green,  is  holding  a sceptre  in  one  hand.  Layard 
says  of  this  that,  though  it  is  painted  in  the  usual 


IRoom  1L — Sala  Dei  Maestri  primitm  29 


severe  style,  it  shows  in  the  heads  a softness  of 
expression,  and  that  the  draperies  fall  in  easy  and 
rounding  folds. 

If  Antonio’s  art  is  mostly  Florentine  in  style, 
Lorenzo’s  is  intensely  Venetian.  He  painted  in 
tempera,  showing  little  ease  in  treatment  or  man- 
ner, with  a solidity  and  opaqueness  that  emphasize 
the  awkward  construction  of  his  figures  and  the 
heaviness  of  their  garments.  Like  all  the  men  of 
his  time,  Fabriano  not  excepted,  he  seemed  more 
careful  in  the  rendering  of  architectural  details,  in 
the  framing  of  his  scenes,  so  to  speak,  than  in  the 
scenes  themselves.  Most  of  his  figures  are  outlined 
with  rigidity,  with  no  flow  of  curve  or  form  to 
counterbalance  the  unbroken  edges.  The  exact 
dates  of  his  birth  and  death  are  not  known,  but  he 
was  working  at  about  the  same  time  as  Niccolo 
Semitecolo'. 

This  last  named  painter  was  one  of  the  earliest 
Venetians  whose  style  shows  some  slight  influence 
of  the  Gothic  upon  that  which  was  in  the  main 
still  strongly  Byzantine^  He  has  been  likened  to 
Duccio,  but  Duccio’s  excellences  are  not  generally 
accorded  him.  He  was  living  as  late  as  1400,  and 
it  has  been  questioned  whether  he  and  Niccolo  di 
Maestro  Pietro  are  not  one  and  the  same.  The 
three  altar-pieces  in  the  Academy,  one  ascribed  to 
Semitecolo,  one  to  Niccolo  di  Maestro  Pietro,  and 


30  Zhc  Brt  of  tbe  Denice  Bcafc>ent$ 


the  third  catalogued  as  by  an  unknown  Venetian 
of  the  fourteenth  century,  all  have  many  of  the 
characteristics  generally  given  Semitecolo.  They 
are  in  elaborate  Gothic  framework,  in  many  divi- 
sions, with  little  idea  of  composition  or  even  of 
coherence  in  the  scenes,  and  with  unconnected  inci- 
dents in  unrelated  lives  frequently  introduced  in  the 
bordering  or  corner  pictures.  Like  many  of  the 
pictures  in  this  first  Venetian  room,  the  effect  of 
the  elaborate  golden  frame  and  the  Byzantine  in- 
sistence upon  gorgeousness  of  robe  and  mantle, 
give  them  a certain  uniform  richness  and  splendour 
that,  to  the  untrained  eye,  make  them  all  seem 
extremely  alike,  so  that  it  is  only  by  careful  at- 
tention to  what  appears  mere  detail  that  one  comes 
to  observe  how  different  they  all  really  are.  Most 
of  these  altar-pieces  are  in  many  divisions,  sur- 
rounded with  one  outer  encircling  framework. 

In  the  Coronation  of  the  Virgin,  for  instance, 
which,  credited  by  the  catalogue  to  an  unknown 
Venetian,  has  before  been  ascribed  to  Semitecolo, 
are  numberless  divisions  and  openings  of  various 
shapes  and  sizes.  The  central  one  shows  the  figure 
of  Jesus  placing  a crown  on  the  head  of  his  Mother, 
who  is  surrounded  by  angels  playing  on  musical 
instruments.  At  their  feet  are  two  that  might  be 
the  forerunners  of  the  delightful  putti  of  Bellini. 
This  is  perhaps,  or  probably,  not  by  Semitecolo,  but 


CORONATION 


IRoom  1L  — Sala  Dei  /IDaestd  primitivi  31 


the  minor  panels  are  considered  to  be  more  in  his 
style.  These,  on  the  right  and  left  of  this  central 
division,  are  smaller,  with  trefoil-shaped  tops. 
Here  are  the  Nativity,  the  Baptism,  the  Last  Sup- 
per, the  Betrayal,  the  Road  to  Calvary,  the  Cruci- 
fixion, the  Resurrection,  and  the  Ascension.  In 
the  last,  with  strict  adherence  to  Byzantine  tradi- 
tions, the  figure  of  Jesus  is  placed  within  an  oval- 
shaped glory  made  of  golden  rays  on  a blue 
ground. 

Above,  on  each  side  of  the  central  panel,  are  six 
more  scenes,  most  of  them  subjects  from  the  life 
of  St.  Francis.  Between  the  principal  ones  are 
single  figures,  each  placed  in  a regular  niche,  and 
perhaps  meant  to>  represent  the  four  Evangelists. 
At  the  right  corner  above  the  central  compartment 
is  King  David  holding  a scroll  with  the  words, 
“ Adorabo  te,”  etc.,  and  at  the  left  Isaiah,  with 
another  Latin-inscribed  scroll.  This  is  the  picture 
which  Ruskin,  praising  excessively,  calls  the  “ Vic- 
ar’s picture/’ 

The  colour  of  the  flesh-tones  throughout  is  olive 
brown,  and  the  folds  of  the  garments  are  not  in- 
dicated by  light  and  shade,  but  by  lines  of  gold, 
white,  or  local  colour.  Now  and  then  certain 
touches  of  naturalism  occur,  noticeably  where,  in 
the  Crucifixion,  the  soldiers  are  depicted  playing 
at  “ Mora,”  an  old  Italian  game,  instead  of,  as  is 


32  flbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Denice  Hcabemg 


usual  in  later  pictures,  casting  lots  for  Christ’s 
garments. 

A more  interesting,  if  less  elaborate,  production 
in  the  same  room  is  the  one  called  the  Virgin  and 
Child  Adored  by  the  Donor.  The  Virgin  sits  with 
the  baby  on  her  lap,  the  words  “ Ego  sum  via 
veritas  et  Vita  ” on  the  leaves  of  the  open  book 
which  he  holds.  The  Mother  is  clad  in  a crimson 
robe  overlaid  with  a golden  flower  pattern,  and  a 
blue  mantle  of  greenish  tone  fastened  at  her  breast 
with  a cherub-headed  brooch.  The  Child  is  dressed 
in  yellow.  Behind  each  head  is  a gold  nimbus,  a 
cross  outlined  in  that  of  Jesus,  a crown  in  Mary’s. 
Upon  pedestals,  serving  as  arms  to  the  throne,  are 
two  angels  playing  upon  mandolins,  and  above  are 
five  other  little  denizens  of  heaven  also'  sounding 
their  musical  instruments  and  lifting  a red  drapery. 
At  the  left  the  donor,  Vulciano'  Belgarzone,  kneels, 
dressed  in  a crimson  gown  and  white  cap.  The 
figures  are  about  half  life-size,  except  for  Belgar- 
zone, who  is  considerably  smaller.  The  painting 
has  a gold  background,  and  the  panel  is  arched  at 
the  top.  Much  of  the  work  is  rather  crude,  and  the 
faces  have  little  real  expression. 

The  third  example  attributed  to  Semitecolo1  is 
another  Coronation  of  the  Virgin,  and  it  has  been 
given  great  praise  for  its  devotional  feeling.  It  is 
very  archaic  in  its  treatment  of  form  and  compo- 


IRoom  IT.  — Sala  bet  flftaestri  prtmtttpt  33 


sition,  of  course,  like  all  of  these,  but  it  does  evince 
an  advance  over  the  old  Byzantine  art.  Mary  and 
Jesus  are  shown  sitting  side  by  side  on  a sort  of 
settle  of  Gothic  build.  Behind  is  a crimson  curtain 
supported  by  angels,  some  of  their  heads  indicating 
an  appreciation  of  cranium  anatomy  rare  with 
Semitecolo.  There  is  the  usual  gold  background, 
and  the  framing  has  a triple-arched  top. 

In  this  room  are  two1  pictures  by  the  little  known 
painter  called  Simone  da  Cusighe  and  Simone  dal 
Peron,  these  both  names  of  villages  near  Bergamo. 
He  lived  sometime  in  the  latter  half  of  the  four- 
teenth century,  dying  before  1416.  He  was  thus 
a Friulian,  and  his  works  show  little  beyond  the 
archaic  tendencies  that  seem  to  overwrap  Friuli  till 
the  time  came  when,  with  one  bound,  she  swept  into 
a place  made  for  her  by  such  men  as  Pordenone  and 
Pellegrino. 

His  two  pictures  in  this  room  are  the  altar-piece, 
the  Virgin  of  Pity  and*  the  so-called  Entombment, 
the  latter  consisting  of  four  small  panels,  repre- 
senting different  scenes  ,from  the  life  of  Christ. 

The  Virgin  of  Pity  is  an  ancona  divided  into 
nine  parts.  In  the  central  and  much  larger  division 
is  the  Madonna,  standing,  holding  out  her  robe  on 
each  side.  The  babe  Jesus  is  painted  enclosed  within 
an  oval  framing  placed  directly  over  her  breast,  a 
background  of  golden  rays  behind  him.  Beneath 


34  tl be  Brt  of  tbe  IDettice  Bcabems 


the  ample  folds  of  her  blue  mantle  with  its  green 
lining  are  the  crowding  penitents  who  give  the 
name  to  the  picture.  In  the  side  panels  above  and 
below  are  painted  incidents  from  the  life  of  St. 
Bartholomew. 

In  1415  Jacobello  del  Fiore  was  “ gastaldo,”  or 
chief  officer  of  the  guild  of  painters  in  Venice.  His 
Coronation  of  the  Virgin,  once  in  the  Cathedral  of 
Ceneda,  and  now  in  this  room  of  the  Academy,  is 
one  of  his  most  authentic  works.  Kugler  says  of 
it  that  “ it  is  a confused  and  scarcely  intelligible 
composition,  containing  a large  number  of  clumsily 
drawn  figures,  angels  playing  on  musical  instru- 
ments in  architectural  niches,  the  Evangelists  and 
crowd  of  Prophets,  Saints,  and  Martyrs,  over- 
charged with  gilding  and  gilt  stucco  in  relief,  — 
showing  this  painter  to  have  been  equally  deficient 
in  skill  and  imagination.  It  has,  however,  lost 
much  of  its  original  character  by  repainting.” 

Other  critics  treat  it  even  more  harshly,  and 
Jacobello’s  absolute  lack  of  knowledge  of  anatomy 
or  any  kind  of  human  construction,  his  awkward, 
angular  motions,  his  total  disregard  of  any  laws  of 
composition  or  even  ordinary  sequence,  all  this  is 
blazoned  forth  in  pictures  made  of  elaborate  stucco 
and  golden  work,  filled  with  glaring  colours, 
crowded  figures  with  neither  rhyme  nor  reason  in 
their  placing,  their  surroundings,  or  their  selection. 


IRoom  1L  — &ala  Dei  ZlDaestn  35 


He  was  not  the  only  painter  of  what  Vasari  calls  the 
“ Greek  style/’  to  introduce  various-sized  figures 
into  the  same  composition,  but  he  apparently  never 
even  heard  of  the  desirability  of  keeping  some  sort 
of  relationship  between  those  supposed  to  be  within 
the  same  picture  plane.  And  yet,  as  has  been 
pointed  out,  if  careful  study  is  given  to1  this  Coro- 
nation, or  Paradise,  as  it  is  also  called,  it  will  be 
seen  that  he  did  make  an  attempt  to  vary  his  figures 
and  to  give  some  sort  of  life  and  animation  to  their 
movements  and  expressions.  Though  there  is,  as 
Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  justly  remark,  no  shading 
or  modelling,  with  the  figures  all  in  strict  outline 
and  with  the  spaces  filled  with  rough  and  clumsy 
distemper,  and  though  the  drawing  is  absolutely 
hopeless,  still,  the  student  does  find,  if  only  by 
study,  something  beyond  the  art  of  the  Byzantine 
painters  whose  works  had  for  so  long  been  Venice’s 
only  pictorial  expression. 

The  Coronation  is  nearly  square  in  shape,  with 
its  top  arched.  The  centre  of  the  composition  is 
occupied  by  a two-part,  throne,  elaborately  inlaid 
and  overhung  with  two  canopies.  Beneath  these 
hangings  sits  Jesus,  placing  a crown  on  Mary’s 
head.  The  lower  part  of  the  throne  is  separated 
into  niches,  the  upper  holding  the  four  Evangelists, 
three  of  them  with  book  and  pen  in  hand,  the  fourth 
with  book  and  knife.  In  the  lower  line  are  seven 


36  T£ be  Brt  of  tfoe  IDenice  Bcafcemp 


angels  bearing  musical  instruments.  Cherubim  and 
seraphim  stand  right  and  left  of  the  throne,  their 
heads  coming  one  above  the  other  in  regular  order. 
Next  are  rows  of  saints  and  martyrs,  all  extrav- 
agantly robed.  In  the  extreme  foreground,  near 
the  lowest  step  of  the  throne,  is  the  Bishop  of 
Ceneda,  his  mitre  on  one  side,  holding  his  crozier 
and  kneeling  in  adoration.  The  principal  figures 
are  perhaps  one-third  life-size,  the  rest  smaller. 
The  old  frame  of  this  picture,  which  was  thrown 
away,  is  said  to  have  been  dated  1430. 

The  same  room  holds  two  more  of  Jacobello’s 
works.  The  one  called  Justice  is  a triptych,  with 
the  allegorical  figure  in  the  middle,  Michael  on  the 
left,  and  Gabriel  on  the  right.  This  he  was  com- 
missioned to  paint  for  the  tribunal  of  the  “ Pro- 
prio  ” in  1421.  Messrs.  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  say 
that  in  it  he  displays  “ incorrectness  of  drawing, 
tastelessness  of  embossed  ornament,  and  tawdriness 
of  drapery.” 

Justice  is  seated  in  full  face  on  two  lions.  Her 
crown,  and  much  of  the  simulated  embroideries  of 
her  dress  are  all  gold  embossed.  Her  robe  is  gray, 
her  mantle  red ; she  holds  in  her  right  hand  a sword, 
and  in  her  left  a pair  of  scales.  A Latin-written 
scroll  is  behind  her  head.  Michael,  the  angel,  is 
seen  in  golden  armour  trampling  on  the  dragon 
which  he  is  about  to  pierce  with  his  uplifted  sword. 


IRoom  l.~  Sala  Del  ZlDaestrt  primitive  37 


In  his  left  hand  he  carries  a pair  of  scales  and  a 
scroll  with  more  Latin  inscription.  Toward  the 
left  comes  the  angel  Gabriel,  clad  in  a yellow  robe 
and  white  mantle,  bearing  a lily  and  still  another 
written  scroll. 

The  third  panel,  the  Virgin  and  Child,  depicts 
a lot  of  tiny  penitents  huddled  beneath  the  Ma- 
donna’s robe.  It  shows  the  Venetian’s  faults  in 
even  stronger  relief  than  these  others  display  them. 

Though  in  the  works  of  these  men  can  be  dis- 
cerned some  slight  advance  over  the  petrified  By- 
zantine art,  till  then  ruling  supreme  in  Venice,  it 
is  not  with  them  that  real  progress  is  seen.  Far 
ahead  of  any  of  their  accomplishments  rank  the 
works  of  even  the  first  of  the  Vivarini,  a school  of 
painters  originating  in  the  island  of  Murano,  which 
was  one  of  the  islands  within  the  Venetian  borders. 
Under  the  title  of  the  Vivarini  are  known  a number 
of  painters  of  different  generations.  They  are 
called  not  alone  by  that  name,  however,  but  are 
frequently  given  their  first  name  in  conjunction 
with  that  of  their  home,  Murano.  This  island  of 
Venice,  then,  may  be  considered  as  the  starting- 
point  of  Venetian  art.  It  was  the  seat  of  the  glass 
manufactories,  and  here  were  made  many  of  the 
mosaics  for  which  Venice  was  famous.  Antonio 
and  Giovanni  da  Murano  may  properly  be  called 
the  founders  of  the  school.  They  worked  mostly 


38  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  Dentce  BcabeniE 


together,  and  signed  their  names  often  as  “ Jo- 
hannes Alemannus  et  Antonius  de  Murano,” 
Johannes  thus  proudly  blazoning  his  German  origin. 
He  is  supposed  to  have  derived  his  artistic  inherit- 
ance from  the  school  of  Cologne,  Antonius  his 
from  Gentile  da  Fabriano  and  Pisanello.  The  two 
men  worked  together  perhaps  for  ten  years,  probably 
till  1450. 

The  great  altar-piece,  called  Paradise,  which  is 
in  this  first  room,  is  now  thought  to  be  only  a copy 
by  Giambone  of  the  one  which  the  two  painters 
executed  for  San  Pantaleone  in  1444.  There  is 
still  some  doubt,  however,  as  to  which  is  the  origi- 
nal work.  In  any  case,  both  are  SO'  tremendously 
repainted  that  it  is  impossible  to  form  much  idea 
of  their  first  estate.  It  is  generally  conceded  that 
the  upper  part  of  the  one  in  the  Academy  was 
added  by  Basaiti. 

The  picture  represents  a great  concourse  of 
saints,  angels,  doctors  of  the  Church,  and  the  four 
Evangelists,  variously  grouped  about  the  Almighty, 
Christ,  and  Mary,  who  are  in  the  upper  part  of  a 
double-tiered  and  high-domed  throne.  Mary  bends 
toward  her  son,  while  he  places  a crown  upon  her 
head.  Behind,  and  slightly  over  them,  is  the  Lord 
Almighty,  a hand  on  the  shoulder  of  each,  and  be- 
tween Him  and  the  other  two,  the  Holy  Ghost  in 
the  form  of  a dove.  This  part  of  the  throne  rests 


PARADISE 

By  Antonio  and  Giovanni  Vivarini 


IRooin  IE  — Sala  fcet  Maestri  prtmttirt  39 


on  pillars  with  golden  stuccoed  capitals,  and  under- 
neath it  is  a crowd  of  little  angels,  bearing  the  in- 
struments of  the  Passion.  They  are  standing  upon 
the  platform  which  makes  the  lower  part  of  the 
throne,  and  are  somewhat  raised  above  the  four 
disciples,  who,  two  on  each  side,  are  within  the 
curving  armlike  projections  of  the  construction. 
Back  of  these  arms,  but  on  a level  with  the  Evan- 
gelists, are  St.  Gregory,  St.  Augustine,  St.  Jerome, 
and  St.  Nicholas.  Ranged  tier  over  tier  on  each 
side,  above  these,  are  the  ranks  of  the  blessed,  each 
with  his  or  her  halo,  all  robed  in  richest  gold  bro- 
cades. In  composition,  they  make  two  winglike 
masses  on  the  sides  of  the  central  throne. 

Badly  drawn  as  are  most  of  the  figures,  crude 
as  is  the  compositional  construction,  there  is  a 
certain  dignity  of  conception,  a careful  accentuation 
of  type,  and  an  attempt  at  individual  character, 
without,  too,  the  forced  action  and  sharp  contrasts 
of  colour,  so'  characteristic  of  the  early  Venetian 
school.  Though  by  no  means  one  of  the  best  ex- 
amples of  the  two  Muranese,  it  unmistakably  shows 
how  these  two  workers  can  be  called  the  founders  of 
a new  style. 

Another  of  the  Vivarini  has  been  classed  with 
these  as  also  one  of  the  real  founders  of  the  school 
of  Murano.  It  is  now  pretty  well  demonstrated 
that  Andrea  da  Murano  was  one  of  the  latest  mem- 


4°  TTbe  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  BcaDemp 


bers  as  well  as  one  of  the  feeblest.  He  was,  how- 
ever, a follower,  so  far  as  he  was  able,  of  the 
Muranese  style. 

The  earliest  work  positively  known  to  be  his  is 
the  one  in  this  room  which  once  was  in  the  Sacristy 
of  San  Pietro  Martire  at  Murano.  It  was  broken 
up  at  some  later  date,  and  no  trace  has  been  dis- 
covered of  the  lunette  which  held  the  Virgin  of 
Mercy.  The  central  panel  represents  St.  Roch  and 
St.  Vincent  attended  by  a kneeling  patroness  and 
another  small-sized  figure.  This  part  of  the  altar- 
piece  was  for  long  in  the  Magazine  of  the  Brera  at 
Milan.  The  sides  show  St.  Sebastian  and  St.  Peter 
Martyr,  a male  worshipper  placed  with  each.  They 
are  on  wood,  painted  in  tempera,  on  a gold  ground. 
In  the  centre,  St.  Vincent  holds  his  hand  in  bene- 
diction over  a nude  woman.  There  is  a distinct 
trace  of  Mantegna’s  influence  in  all  these  figures, 
particularly  in  the  heads.  The  draperies  are  long, 
straight,  and  angular,  the  flesh-tone  is  olive,  the 
faces  disagreeable  in  expression. 

The  Virgin  Adoring  the  Child,  in  this  room,  may 
or  may  not  be  by  Quirizio1  da  Murano,  certain  at- 
tributes suggesting  rather  the  work  of  Bartolommeo. 
The  Child  and  the  blue  mantle  of  the  Mother  are 
both  modern  restorations.  The  baby  Jesus  lies  on 
a white  cushion  on  a parapet.  The  inscription  on 
this  parapet  of  “ uritus,  Murano,”  may  also  be  a 


IRoom  A*  — ©ala  Dei  /SDaestrt  primitive  41 


modern  restoration,  or  a modern  forgery.  The 
figures  are  rather  heavier  than  those  usually  as- 
signed to  Quirizio. 

In  the  same  room  is  an  Ecce  Homo'  credited  to 
him.  It  is  on  wood,  and  is  less  injured  than  the 
other.  It,  too,  has  much  ip  common  with  the  style 
of  Bartolommeo. 

Quirizio,  or  Quiricius,  is  supposed  to  have  been 
a pupil  of  Antonio  of  Murano,  though  there  have 
been  many  and  varying  conjectures  made  regarding 
him  and  his  work  by  the  critics.  The  probability 
is  that  he  did  little  alone,  but  was  one  of  the  as- 
sistants in  the  Vivarini  workshop.  His  use  of  tem- 
pera is  like  that  of  the  school  of  Murano,  being 
flat,  light,  and  with  little  or  no  shade.  His  type 
of  head  is  regular  and  well-shaped,  fingers  and 
neck  long,  waist  very  slender. 

There  is  little  to  admire  in  the  huge  altar-piece 
by  Lambertini.  It  is  divided  into  fifteen  parts,  and 
has  three  lengthwise  divisions.  In  the  centre  are 
the  Madonna  and  Child  and  two  angels  between 
two  panels  of  Mary  Magfdalen  on  the  right,  and  St. 
Lucy  and  St.  Helen  at  the  left.  Above  are  the 
Calvary  and  the  four  Evangelists.  The  predella 
contains  scenes  from  the  life  of  St.  Helen.  This  is 
the  best  part  of  the  work,  showing  some  study  of 
nature  and  some  slight  imagination.  The  draperies 
are  crudely  drawn,  the  figures  even  more  so.  The 


42  Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  tDentce  Bcabems 


faces  are  apparently  modelled  on  the  same  type, 
the  mouths,  particularly,  being  all  alike. 

Very  little  is  known  of  Michele  di  Matteo  Lam- 
bertini,  except  that  he  was  a Bolognese  painter, 
working  as  early  as  1440,  that  being  the  date  of 
his  twelve  articles  of  the  Apostles’  Creed  in  the 
Church  of  San  Giovanni  at  Siena.  His  style  is 
largely  influenced  by  Byzantine  traditions. 


CHAPTER  III. 


ROOM  XVII. 

The  two  panels  in  Room  17,  one  of  the  Virgin, 
and  the  other  the  Angel  of  the  Annunciation,  have 
been  ascribed  to  Giovanni  and  Antonio  Vivarini, 
and  also  to  Luigi  Vivarini.  Morelli  doubts  if  they 
belong  to  any  Vivarini,  claiming  them  to  be  more 
likely  the  work  of  Dario  of  Treviso.  Berenson, 
also,  does  not  give  them  to  either  Luigi  or  Bar- 
tolommeo. The  new  catalogue  credits  them  to 

Parentino.  They  are,  at  any  rate,  in  the  style  of 
the  Vivarini,  though  with  certain  attributes  which 
seem  to  place  them  perhaps  as  belonging  to  a 
painter  somewhat  later  than  the  first  of  that  school. 

The  Virgin  is  kneeling  on  a tesselated  floor  of  a 
room  with  an  arch  through  whose  opening  a bit 
of  sky  and  landscape  can  be  seen.  She  is  facing 
the  left,  her  hands,  not  very  successfully  drawn, 
crossed  on  her  breast.  Both  this  and  the  other 
panel  have  been  hurt  by  retouching.  The  angel 
kneels  in  the  same  room,  or  loggia,  facing  the  Vir- 
gin, bearing  a tall  branch  of  white  lilies  in  his  left 

43 


44  Uhc  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcabemp 


hand.  His  right  is  raised  in  blessing.  He  is 
clothed  in  white,  with  red  cuffs,  and  his  wings, 
cut  half  off  by  the  line  of  picture,  are  many  col- 
oured. The  straight,  long,  delicately  treated  folds 
of  his  robe  suggest  Luigi’s  handling,  rather  than  the 
more  angular  brush  of  the  two  earlier  Vivarini. 

After  Antonio  and  Giovanni  dissolved  partner- 
ship, Antonio  joined  with  his  younger  brother  Bar- 
tolommeo, a man  of  distinctly  more  talent  than  he 
himself  possessed.  For  most  of  his  life,  however, 
Bartolommeo  worked  alone.  He  is  a worthy  pred- 
ecessor of  Alvise  or  Luigi,  showing  in  the  free- 
dom of  his  handling,  and  in  the  character  and 
dignity  of  his  figures,  an  advance  in  art  till  then 
unknown  in  Venice.  It  was  soon,  nevertheless,  to 
be  far  excelled  by  the  Bellini  brothers.  Bartolommeo 
had  more  originality  than  Antonio,  and  some  of  his 
works  have  a sternness  and  impressiveness  that, 
as  Kugler  notes,  are  scarcely  excelled  by  Mantegna, 
though  he  is  led  at  times  to  a certain  grotesque 
exaggeration  that  nullifies  the  austere  impressive- 
ness otherwise  felt.  His  colour  was  deeper  and 
more  brilliant  than  Antonio’s,  but  he  had  not  al- 
together ceased  employing  the  raised  gold  stucco 
work  on  embroideries  and  architectural  accessories 
and  he  often  used  gold  for  entire  backgrounds.  So 
far  as  is  known,  he  always  painted  in  tempera,  but 
he  got  effects  with  it  only  comparable  to  oil.  He 


IRocm  flDHIT* 


45 


was  somewhat  under  the  influence  of  the  school  of 
Squarcione,  chiefly  shown,  as  critics  have  noted, 
by  the  bits  of  classic  details  and  by  the  flower  and 
fruit  wreaths  and  festoons  over  his  backgrounds. 

The  ancona  by  him,  in  Room  17,  of  the  Madonna 
with  Four  Saints,  is  in  the  shape  usual  with  the 
early  school,  a picture  made  up  of  a number  of 
panels  separated  by  highly  wrought  Gothic  fram- 
ing. These  Gothic  frames  are  themselves  very 
beautiful,  their  borders  and  columns  and  arches 
making  a decorative  ensemble  that  hardly  needs 
the  paintings  within  to  add  to  its  charm:.  Indeed, 
the  pictures  have  been  so  often  repainted,  restored, 
almost  remade,  that  the  spectator  is  apt  to  feel  that 
it  is  the  frame  rather  than  the  enclosed  scenes  that 
adequately  represent  the  period  of  which  the  work  is 
supposed  to  be  an  example. 

This  one  by  Bartolommeo1  is  no  exception  to  the 
general  rule.  It  is  divided  into  five  compartments, 
and  the  exquisite  workmanship  of  the  surrounding 
frame  is  worth  careful  study.  In  the  central  divi- 
sion, on  a gold  background,  are  the  Mother  and 
Child.  Mary  is  seated  on  a low  throne,  over  the 
back  of  which  is  hung  a red  drapery.  She  is 
dressed  in  a rose-toned  robe,  patterned  in  gold,  a 
blue  mantle,  lined  with  green,  coming  down  from 
the  top  of  her  head  over  her  shoulders  on  to  her 
knees.  With  her  hands  folded  in  adoration,  she 


46  Ube  Btt  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabem# 


is  gazing  down  at  the  Child  lying  on  a cushion 
asleep  on  her  lap.  The  gravity,  almost  the  dolo- 
rousness, of  her  expression  is  intensified  in  the  faces 
of  the  four  saints  who  fill  the  compartments  on  each 
side  of  this  central  panel.  At  the  left  are  St.  John 
and  St.  Andrew,  at  the  right,  St.  Dominick  and 
St.  Peter.  John  is  in  his  shirt  of  skins,  with  a red- 
dish overmantle,  and  holds  his  reed  cross  in  his 
left  hand.  Against  St.  Andrew  leans  his  cross  of 
martyrdom.  St.  Dominick  bears  a slender,  grace- 
ful stalk  of  lilies,  and  St.  Peter  the  keys  of  his 
office. 

All  these  figures  have  a certain  impressive  dignity, 
and  the  devout  spirit  that  portrayed  them  is  plainly 
evident.  In  construction,  they  are  at  least  better 
than  most  examples  of  Venetian  art  of  that  time. 
In  expression,  they  are  lugubrious  in  the  extreme, 
anguish  being  the  dominating  note  of  their  thin, 
drawn  faces. 

St.  Barbara,  by  the  same  artist,  is  painted  stand- 
ing at  the  portal  of  a church  or  dwelling,  holding 
in  her  hands  the  model  of  her  tower.  Her  long, 
full  robe  is  green,  the  background  golden.  She 
stands  in  full  face,  her  head  bent  slightly  toward 
her  right  shoulder,  her  eyes  looking  still  farther  to 
her  right.  The  drooping,  arched  brows,  heavy 
chin,  and  thick  neck,  are  all  characteristic  of  Bar- 
tolommeo-. And  the  extreme  length  of  her  body 


ST.  BARBARA 
By  Bartolommeo  Vivarini 


IRoom  fMIL  47 

is  a malformation  which  even  Alvise  did  not  wholly 
overcome. 

This  picture,  with  the  Mary  Magdalen  in  the 
same  room,  once  made  a pendant  for  an  altar-piece 
belonging  to  the  Christ  Chapel  in  San  Geminiano. 
They  are  in  the  last  manner  of  Bartolommeo,  and 
the  movement  is  comparatively  easy  and  natural. 

The  Scenes  from  the  Life  of  Jesus,  an  ancona  of 
many  compartments,  is  not  supposed,  now,  to  be 
the  work  of  Bartolommeo.  It  is,  nevertheless, 
largely  in  his  style. 

The  central  panel  holds  the  Nativity,  the  Child 
lying  on  a green  cushion  on  the  ground,  the 
Mother,  in  a red  robe  and  green  mantle,  kneeling 
at  the  right,  Joseph,  at  the  left,  asleep.  Above  this 
central  scene,  in  a lunette,  is  the  Pieta,  with  Jesus 
between  two  angels.  At  the  left  and  right  of  the 
Nativity  are  a number  of  saints,  — Peter,  holding 
his  keys,  John  the  Baptist  with  a lamb,  and  a reed 
cross  in  his  hands,  Andrew1  reading,  Francis  with 
the  stigmata,  Paul  resting  on  his  sword,  Jerome 
bearing  the  model  of  his  church,  Anthony  holding 
a lily,  Martin  with  his  sword.  The  predella  has 
thirteen  compartments,  Jesus  in  the  middle  one, 
the  apostles  on  either  side.  This  whole  ancona, 
if  not  by  Bartolommeo,  is  supposed  to  have  been 
painted  in  his  studio,  and  is  rough,  uneven,  and 
crude  compared  to  his  best  work. 


48  Ghe  Brt  of  tbe  Venice  Hcafcems 


There  are  several  works  by  Alvise  Vivarini  in 
Room  17,  of  which  the  most  famous  is  the  altar- 
piece,  the  Madonna  Enthroned  with  Six  Saints. 

Luigi,  or  Alvise  Vivarini,  was  born,  it  is  be- 
lieved, sometime  after  1444.  Most  writers  on  the 
art  Venetian  claim  that  he  was  strong'ly  influenced 
by  Giovanni  Bellini,  and  that  it  is  to  him.  he  owes 
most  of  his  eminence.  Mr.  Bernhard  Berenson, 
than  whom,  probably,  no  one  has  made  a more  care- 
ful study  of  Alvise,  fails  to  see  in  the  Muranese 
any  more  Bellinesque  traits  than  would  come,  per- 
force, in  the  work  of  a man  living  and  working  at 
the  same  time  and  in  the  same  town.  He,  Beren- 
son, sees  instead  the  influence  of  Antonio  and  Bar- 
tolommeo' Vivarini,  and  also,  strongly,  that  of 
Antonello'  da  Messina.  What  else  is  there,  he  says, 
is  due  to  Alvise’ s own  genius  of  development.  Even 
in  the  altar-piece  in  the  Redentore,  which  for  so 
long  was  claimed  to  be  by  Bellini,  Berenson  finds 
scarcely  any  real  likeness  to  Bellini.  All  critics 
practically  agree  that,  in  two>  things  at  least,  Vivarini 
differs  greatly  from  Gianbellini.  He  never  attains 
that  command  over  his  medium,  oil,  which  the  other 
used  so  easily.  Nor  does  he  ever  reach  anything 
like  the  knowledge  of  human  anatomy  possessed 
by  this  greatest  fifteenth-century  Venetian.  To  the 
very  last,  Vivarini’s  figures  are  unduly  tall,  lanky, 
and  ill-proportioned.  The  unexplained  length  in  his 


IRoom  PHI 


49 


figures,  from  chest  to  knee,  is  one  of  the  noticeable 
characteristics  of  almost  all  of  them.  Berenson  also 
claims  that  he  is  much  more  of  a psychologist  than 
Bellini  ever  was.  He  expresses  more  truly  a cer- 
tain moment  of  thought,  of  arrested  motion,  of  in- 
tense concentration,  — this  being  one  of  the  attri- 
butes which  Lotto,  his  supposed  pupil,  derived  from 
him. 

The  Madonna  and  Child  here  is  next  to  his  ear- 
liest dated  work,  but  it  already  shows  the  great 
progress  he  had  made  over  his  Muranese  contem- 
poraries. Here  are  no  longer  the  old  style  of  divi- 
sions, with  the  Madonna  and  Babe  in  the  central 
space,  and  the  saints,  in  their  Gothic-framed  niches, 
on  each  side,  painted  on  the  gold  background. 
Vivarini  has  not  only  made  a single  grouping  of 
the  Madonna,  with  the  three  saints  on  each  side, 
but  he  has  actually  succeeded  in  making  it  all  a 
composite  whole,  each  figure  to  a greater  or  less 
extent  dependent  upon  the  others,  all  bearing  a dis- 
tinct relation  to  the  central  group.  More  than  that, 
he  has  expressed  a real  condition  of  mind. 

The  Madonna  is  seated  on  a high-backed  throne, 
dressed  in  a rose-coloured  gown,  with  a brown 
mantle  brocaded  with  gold  and  a white  head-dress. 
Standing  on  her  left  knee  is  the  baby  Christ,  the 
lower  part  of  his  body  in  profile,  his  chest,  shoul- 
ders, and  head  turned  nearer  full  face,  as  he  lifts 


5®  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcabents 


his  hand  in  blessing.  Mary  extends  her  right  hand, 
palm  upward,  as  if  she  were  discoursing  to1  those 
about  her  or  explaining  the  nature  of  the  holy 
Child.  It  is  this  gesture  which  is  the  connecting 
link  between  her  and  the  saints.  For  the  whole 
six  are  looking,  listening,  leaning  forward,  their 
own  hands  duplicating  her  gesture,  as  if  they  were 
following  her  every  movement. 

Close  against  the  throne,  therefore  slightly  back 
of  the  other  four,  are  St.  Anna  on  the  left,  and  St. 
Joachim  on  the  right.  Anna,  dressed  in  blue,  has 
her  hands  folded  prayerwise,  a strained,  nervous 
look  on  her  thin  face.  Joachim  is  lifting  his  hat 
and  holding  a dove  in  the  other  hand,  his  gray- 
bearded,  intent  face  gazing  eagerly  at  the  Child. 
Next  him  is  St.  Francis  in  monk’s  attire,  his  hands 
lifted,  showing  the  nail-prints,  his  head  bent,  his 
eyes  looking  downward.  Beside  him  comes  St. 
Bernard,  his  shaven  head  with  the  sharp,  fine 
features  in  strict  profile.  On  the  other  side,  St. 
Anthony  of  Padua  is  next  Anna,  a book  in  his  left 
hand,  a spray  of  lilies  over  his  shoulder  in  his  right, 
his  face  nearly  in  profile.  Beside,  but  in  front  of 
him,  is  St.  Louis  of  Toulouse.  Back  of  the  throne 
a green  drapery  is  suspended,  and  over  it,  on  each 
side,  are  the  upper  part  of  two  arched  windowls, 
giving  a glimpse  of  sky  and  clouds. 

The  Madonna’s  face  is  wistful,  but  not  heavy, 


MADONNA  AND  CHILD 
By  Luigi  (Alvise)  Vivarini 


IRoom  JOT  IF* 


51 


questioning,  not  dolorous.  It  is  not  beautiful,  but 
it  has  a sweet  sobriety  about  it  that  makes  one  turn 
to  it  again  and  again.  The  length  from  her  shoul- 
der to  her  thigh  is,  as  usual  with  Vivarini,  exces- 
sive, and  the  figures  of  the  saints  have  this  same 
peculiarity.  But  in  construction  they  are  all  better 
than  the  nude  baby  with  the  tiny  feet  and  hands, 
the  queer  twisted  little  body  that  shows  such  evi- 
dent and  painful  effort.  There  is  a marked  likeness 
to  one  another  in  the  faces  of  the  saints,  yet  each 
has  decided,  even  emphatic  character  and  person- 
ality. Their  strained,  intense  expressions  are, 
again,  characteristic  of  the  painter  of  Murano. 

The  panel  of  St.  Clare,  in  the  same  room,  came 
from  the  suppressed  Church  of  San  Daniele.  This 
is  a portrait,  evidently,  of  a nun  of  the  time  of 
Alvise,  and,  as  portraiture,  is  a most  remarkable 
work.  It  is  the  figure  of  a woman  fast  nearing  old 
age.  She  is  in  the  dress  of  some  sisterhood,  her 
robe  violet,  mantle  black,  ,and  white  veil.  In  three- 
quarters  position  she  is  turned  toward  the  left, 
looking  at  the  spectator,  her  right  hand  holding  a 
crucifix,  her  left,  a red  book.  Behind  her  is  a green 
drapery.  This  long,  lined,  drawn  face,  with  its  thin 
mouth  curving  severely  downwards,  with  its  pene- 
trating, unexcusing  eyes,  its  sharp,  long  nose,  is 
not  a charming  face,  nor  does  it  suggest  a lovable 
character.  Severity,  rigour  of  doctrine,  are  there. 


52 


Uhc  Brt  of  tbe  Denice  Bcafcem^ 


No  sin,  one  feels,  would  be  lightly  forgiven,  little 
ones,  perhaps,  least  of  all.  “ St.  Clare,”  says  Mr. 
Berenson,  “ is  a powerfully  conceived  and  ably  ex- 
ecuted bust  of  a firmly  believing,  strenuously  act- 
ing, old  woman.  Her  face  is  one  of  the  best  studies 
of  character  that  had,  up  to  that  time,  been  produced 
in  Venice.” 

Cosimo  Tura,  the  painter  of  a Madonna  and 
Child  in  this  room,  was  one  of  the  founders  of  the 
Ferrarese  school,  a school  that  was  late  in  develop- 
ing. Until  the  latter  half  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
Ferrara  had  practically  no  native  art.  Cosimo, 
Morelli  calls  “ a hard,  dry,  and  angular  painter,  but 
often  very  impressive.”  He,  as  well  as  the  other 
early  Ferrarese,  was  influenced  by  the  school 
founded  by  Squarcione  in  Padua  in  1430,  but  it 
is  considered  probable  that  they  also  were  partly 
indebted  to  Piero>  della  Francesco,  who  had  worked 
in  their  city.  M.  Alexandre  says  of  Cosimo,  that 
“ it  is  impossible  to  find  a painter  more  exaggerated, 
more  mannered,  more,  to  state  it  bluntly,  more  in- 
tolerable.” It  is  true  that  his  angular,  often  con- 
torted forms,  his  hard,  ugly  colour,  his  forced  ges- 
tures, and  his  strained,  staring  expressions,  make 
his  pictures  far  from  being  things  of  beauty.  Yet 
he  has  unquestioned  energy,  and,  if  his  colour  is 
rough,  it  has  strength  of  tone,  and  his  contours  are 


IRoom  pifi  53 

frequently  characterized  by  extremely  expressive 
curves. 

The  picture  by  him  here  shows  the  Madonna  in 
full  face,  holding  on  her  knee  the  sleeping  baby 
Jesus.  Back  of  the  group  is  a trellis  covered  with 
grape-vines.  The  background  is  blue,  with  a cir- 
cular gold  decoration,  which  is  half  obscured. 
Above,  in  an  anconetta,  are  two  angels  presenting 
a chalice  cover. 

This  is  in  its  original  frame,  a frame  that  is,  for 
pure  beauty,  far  superior  to  the  picture  which  it 
surrounds.  The  queer,  ill-drawn  baby,  with  the 
painfully  attached  hands,  shoulders,  and  feet,  the 
angular,  disconnected  head  of  the  Madonna,  with 
the  abnormally  high  and  wide  forehead,  recalling 
the  Dutch  type,  are  somewhat  atoned  for  by  the 
spirit  of  severe  piety,  if  it  may  be  so  expressed,  that 
envelops  the  whole  picture.  The  man  who  painted 
it  was  in  earnest,  if  ever  a painter  was. 

In  this  room  is  the  only  picture  owned  by  the 
Academy  by  Andrea  Mantegna,  St.  George  and  the 
Dragon.  It  was  painted  in  Mantegna’s  mid-career, 
when  he  was  in  the  plenitude  of  his  powers.  The 
youthful  hero  is  standing  in  a tall,  narrow  panel, 
whose  painted  framework  makes  it  appear  as  if 
he  were  on  the  threshold  of  a doorway  or  porch. 
Beyond  the  side  framing,  seeming  to  project  out  of 
the  picture,  comes  his  left  hand,  holding  his  broken 


54  TEbe  Brt  of  tbe  Dentce  Bcabem# 


spear,  and  in  the  lower  right-hand  corner  is  the 
dragon’s  snout.  Above  the  saint’s  head  is  a garland 
of  fruit  and  flowers  hung  between  the  framing 
pillars.  Behind  is  the  winding,  curving  roadway, 
leading  from  a low-lying  river  up  to  a castled  hill, 
with  towers  and  walls  breaking*  against  the  cloud- 
streaked  sky.  The  curving  line  of  this  roadway  in 
the  yellowish  landscape  nearly  repeats  the  outline 
of  the  monster  at  the  conqueror’s  feet;  for,  though 
the  beast  is  now  lying  in  a heap  half  across  the 
threshold,  or  framing,  and  half  into  the  field  be- 
hind, it  still  shows  in  its  long,  sinuous  neck,  its  big 
bat-shaped  wings,  its  doubled-up  body,  possibilities 
of  twisting,  tortuous  length.  He  is  a very  pulpy, 
evil-looking  beast,  his  fanged  tongue  and  wicked, 
stretched  mouth,  with  its  double  row  of  stiletto-like 
teeth,  as  well  as  the  power  felt  in  the  ribbed,  ser- 
rated wings,  all  showing  his  formidable  nature 
as  an  enemy.  Yet,  perhaps,  in  the  prone  body, 
there  is  a hint  of  sluggishness,  of  actual  inertia, 
behind  all  the  superficial  ferocity,  suggesting  that  no 
determined  warrior  could  have  found  him  so*  en- 
tirely dangerous  an  opponent.  That  is  what,  at 
least,  the  young  hero  seems  to  convey  in  his  person. 
He  stands  on  his  right  leg,  his  body  swung  lightly 
in  that  direction,  resting  slightly  on  his  huge, 
broken  spear,  that  reaches  almost  up  to  his  shoulder. 
His  left  hand  is  on  his  left  hip,  just  above  his  sword, 


ST.  GEORGE  AND  THE  DRAGON 
By  Andrea  Mantegna 


mom  fOTIL 


55 


which  he  evidently  has  not  had  to>  use.  Above  his 
head  shines  his  halo,  but  otherwise,  in  this  thor- 
oughly mailed  figure,  there  is  no  hint  of  the  saint- 
hood afterward  bestowed  upon  him.  In  accoutre- 
ment he  is  perfect;  nothing  in  the  requirements  of 
the  day,  apparently,  is  lacking  to  make  him  invin- 
cible. With  the  exception  of  the  short  red  cloak 
hanging  from  his  shoulders,  and  only  seen  slightly 
beneath  his  arms,  there  is  nothing  softer  or  more 
pregnable  than  the  woven  shirt  of  mail  coming  from 
beneath  his  plate  armour,  and  falling  half-way  to  his 
knees. 

The  grace,  the  poise,  the  swing  of  the  figure,  even 
for  Mantegna  in  the  height  of  his  powers,  are 
wonderfully  expressed.  There  are  a rhythm,  a 
spring,  and  a balance,  as  well  as  strength,  in  his 
slight,  slender,  yet  firm  figure  that  quite  explain 
the  ease  with  which  the  terrible  dragon  was  van- 
quished by  the  young  knight.  Full  of  intense  life 
as  the  figure  is,  Mantegna  achieved  a still  more 
remarkable  triumph  in  the  head  and  face  of  the 
youth.  The  head  is  beautifully  balanced  and  held 
proudly,  the  eyes  are  large  and  calmly  regardful,  the 
mouth  sensitive  and  rather  sad.  But  about  the 
whole  face  there  is  something  that  suggests  a 
psychologic  moment  very  rare  in  early  Renaissance 
art.  Almost  one  is  tempted  to  read  into  it  the 
modern  question.  Almost  one  feels  that  the  thoughts 


56  Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  Dentce  Bcabems 


of  the  triumphant  youth  are  very  far  from  triumph. 
He  has  accomplished  the  deed  so  easily!  There  is 
not  so  much  as  a disarranged  curl  to  show  that  the 
struggle  cost  him  half  an  effort.  Only  the  broken 
spear  is  evidence  that  force  must  have  been  ex- 
pended. And  one  wonders  if  he  regrets  that  the 
task  was  so  simple,  or  if  he  wonders  whether  it 
was  worth  while ! If,  perhaps,  even  dragons  haven’t 
a right  in  the  world  and  a use ! Or  is  it  simply  the 
saint’s  sorrow  that  so  many  have  failed  where  he 
found  it  so  easy? 

Andrea  di  Ser  Biagio,  known  to-day  as  Man- 
tegna, was  born  in  1431,  probably  in  or  near  Padua, 
though  some  writers  have  thought  that  he  was  a 
Vicentine.  As  early  as  1441  he  was  apparently 
regularly  adopted  by  Francesco  Squarcione,  at  that 
time  considered  the  best  teacher  in  Northern  Italy. 
He  had  under  his  instruction,  it  is  said,  as  many 
as  137  pupils.  His  chief  excellence  seems  to  have 
been  not  so  much  in  his  own  ability  as  painter,  for 
he  had  little  real  technical  or  actual  experience  in 
the  art,  but  in  his  insistence  upon  the  study  of  the 
antique.  He  had  a large  collection  of  antiques  and 
casts  of  classic  sculpture  which  he  had  gathered  in 
the  course  of  years,  and  these  were  all  used  for  his 
pupils  to  work  from. 

Perhaps  Mantegna’s  works  always  showed  the 
influence  of  Squarcione.  But  it  was  Donatello  to 


IRoom  iWf* 


57 


whom  he  owed  most.  And  as  M.  Muntz  happily 
observes,  it  was  Mantegna,  a painter,  who  was  the 
principal  pupil  of  the  great  sculptor.  Mantegna 
was  born  with  little  sense  of  colour,  and  he  never 
becomes  a great,  or  even  a good,  colourist.  There 
is  in  the  best  of  his  works  a lack  of  the  finer  har- 
mony, balance,  and  counterbalance  of  colour  masses 
that  come  almost  instinctively  to  the  born  painter. 
What  advance  his  later  works  show  over  his  earlier 
in  this  respect  is  principally  due  to  Bellini.  After 
and  even  before  Mantegna  married  Niccolosia,  the 
sister  of  Gentile  and  Giovanni  Bellini,  his  sense  of 
the  value  of  colour  shows  a decided  gain.  From 
Bellini,  too,  he  acquired  something  of  grace,  of 
repose,  and  of  charm. 

The  recent  editors  of  Vasari  say  of  Mantegna  in 
discriminating  phrase : “ Mantegna’s  was  a dual 
artistic  personality;  pushed  a little  further  in  one 
direction,  his  Judith  of  the  Uffizi  might  form  part 
of  a Greek  vase  painting;,  pushed  a little  further  in 
the  opposite  direction,  his  Gonzaghe  nobles  of  the 
Mantuan  Castello  would  become  caricatures.  Man- 
tegna’s is  essentially  a virile  genius;  he  does  not 
charm  by  suggestiveness,  nor  please  by  morbidezza; 
he  lacks  facile  grace  and  feeling  for  facial  beauty; 
he  is  often  cold,  sometimes  even  harsh  and  crude. 
...  As  Angelico  was  the  Saint,  and  Leonardo  the 
Magician,  Mantegna  was  the  Ancient  Roman  of 


58  Ufoe  Brt  of  tbe  Dentce  Hcafcems 


Art.  His  were  the  Roman  virtues,  — sobriety,  dig- 
nity, self-restraint,  discipline,  and  a certain  master- 
liness as  indescribable  as  it  is  impressive  — and  to 
those  who  appreciate  austere  beauty  and  the  pure 
harmonies  of  exquisite  lines  Mantegna’s  art  will 
always  appeal.” 

From  his  Eremitani  decorations  in  Padua,  down 
the  line  of  his  wall  paintings  in  the  Ducal  Palace  at 
Mantua,  his  Madonnas  of  St.  Zeno  and  the  Louvre, 
and  his  Triumph  of  Caesar  at  Hampton  Court,  it 
is  possible  to*  get  a fairly  complete  understanding 
of  the  great  master  who  combined  power  with 
grace,  full  sweep  of  brush  with  an  almost  miniature- 
like execution,  a marvellous  decorative  sense  along 
with  great  qualities  as  a portrayer  of  mood  and  pas- 
sion, a draughtsmanship  unerring,  a rhythm  and 
swing  as  musical  as  it  is  insistent. 

According  to  the  new  catalogue  the  two  panels 
in  this  room  which  were  formerly  ascribed  to  An- 
tonello  da  Messina  are  only  copies  of  his  works. 
Berenson,  however,  credits  him  with  the  Ecce 
Homo,  and  other  critics  give  him  as  well  the  Annun- 
ciation. In  neither  is  Antonello  at  his  best,  though 
both  show'  certain  well-known  characteristics  of  the 
South  Italian. 

Jesus  at  the  Column  is  less  than  a half-length 
figure,  cut  by  the  line  of  picture  just  below  his 
breast.  Behind  him,  and  coming  above  his  head, 


ffioom  £M1L 


59 


is  seen  part  of  the  cross.  His  head  is  thrown 
back  and  up,  in  three-quarters  position,  facing 
toward  his  left,  while  his  shoulders  are  almost  in 
full  face.  A crown  of  thorns  is  on  his  head,  and 
falling  below  it  on  to  his  shoulders  are  long,  tight 
curls.  The  thin,  pointed  beard  and  light  moustache 
help  to  emphasize  the  agony  of  the  open  mouth 
with  its  drooping  lines.  Hrops  of  blood  are  fall- 
ing from  his  forehead  on  to  his  face,  neck,  and 
chest.  In  spite  of  the  torture  the  face  does  not 
express  any  abject  terror.  It  shows,  rather,  both 
restraint  and  dignity  under  the  extreme  of  suffering. 
The  brushwork  is  coarse  and  heavy,  and  there  is 
some  reason  for  thinking  that  critics  may  be  right  in 
regarding  the  signature,  “ Antonellus  Mesanius  me 
Pinxitas,”  a modern  forgery. 

The  Annunciation  is  even  less  worthy  of  Anto- 
nello’s  fame.  Mary  is  a half-length  figure,  standing 
at  a reading-desk  on  which  is  an  open  missal.  She 
is  in  almost  full  face,  so  completely  covered  with  the 
heavy  wooden  drapery  over  her  that  nothing  but 
her  face  and  hands  can  be  discerned.  Even  her  face 
is  half-obscured,  for  the  head-veil  comes  far  down 
nearly  to  the  eyes.  The  hands  are  curiously  fore- 
shortened, and  throughout  the  entire  figure  there 
is  evident  a strong  but  not  greatly  successful  at- 
tempt at  correct  anatomical  construction.  Her  eyes 
are  large  and  wide  open,  her  mouth  has  full  but 


6o  TTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  IDentce  Hcabemp 


carefully  drawn  lips,  her  nose  is  Grecian  in  its 
straight  lines.  Her  expression  is  sweet  if  some- 
what lethargic.  According  to  the  catalogue  the 
original  of  this  picture  is  in  Munich. 

From  Vasari’s  time  down  there  have  been  ex- 
tremely conflicting  opinions  in  regard  to  Antonello’ s 
life  and  works.  Vasari’s  account  of  him  is  one 
mass  of  contradictory  statements.  The  date  of  his 
birth  does  not  correspond  at  all  with  his  age  as  he 
gives  it  at  the  painter’s  death,  and  the  incidents  of 
his  life  are  proved  to  be  largely  unfounded  on  fact. 
The  great  claim,  which  up  to  a comparatively  few 
years  ago  was  universally  believed,  that  Antonello 
learned  the  art  of  oil-painting  directly  from  Jan 
Van  Eyck,  that  for  that  purpose  he  made  a trip 
to  Flanders  and  that  to  him  was  due  its  intro- 
duction into1  Italy,  is  now  pretty  generally  regarded 
as  mostly  without  foundation. 

The  southern  towns  of  Italy,  Naples,  Palermo, 
Messina,  had  no  school  of  painting  of  their  own, 
but  they  had  a regular  commerce  with  the  northern 
countries,  and  many  Flemish  works  of  art  were 
brought  to  their  ports.  Later  on,  these  southern 
cities,  with  the  desire  for  self-aggrandizement 
strong  within  them,  not  infrequently  claimed  these 
very  works  as  the  product  of  native  artists.  How- 
ever, this  is  neither  here  nor  there.  It  is  only  cer- 
tain that  Antonello,  as  well  as  any  other  South 


IRoom  flDff. 


61 

Italian,  must  have  had  a chance  to  see  and  study 
the  Flemish  method  of  oil-painting  without  making 
the  trip  to  Flemish  shores.  That  he  himself  did 
introduce  the  method  to  Venice,  when,  about  1473, 
he  went  there  to  live,  is,  however,  abundantly 
testified  to.  It  was  unquestionably  he  to  whom 
Bellini  owed  his  adoption  of  the  medium. 

For  some  years  after  Antonello’ s arrival  in  Ven- 
ice, it  seems  evident  that  he  was  the  most  famous 
portrait-painter  in  the  city.  It  is  undoubtedly 
largely  to  his  use  of  oil  that  much  of  his  vogue 
while  living  and  his  fame  after  death  are  due. 
What  he  owed  to  the  Bellini  and  what  they  owed 
to  him,  how  far  he  was  influenced  by  Alvise  Vi- 
varini  or  how  much  the  latter  copied  him,  all 
these  are  points  that  critics  have  greatly  disagreed 
about.  Morelli  and  most  of  the  later  writers  affirm 
that  Antonello  owed  practically  everything  to  the 
Venetians,  showing  that  his  early  works,  before  he 
reached  the  northern  city,  are  SO'  immature,  so  in- 
experienced, that  they  prove  his  lack  of  knowledge 
before  his  arrival.  Berenson  maintains  that,  though 
Giovanni  Bellini  undoubtedly  had  a great  deal  of 
influence  over  the  young  southerner,  it  is  not  alone 
this  painter  whom  Antonello  took  as  model,  but 
that  Alvise  Vivarini  was  also  greatly  responsible 
for  his  development.  Morelli  thinks  that  Carpaccio 
comes  next  to  Bellini  in  helping  to  form  the  south- 


62  TLhc  Hrt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcafcems 


erner,  but  Berenson  can  see  none  of  this  influence. 
In  any  case,  Antonello’s  art  became  very  much 
finer,  more  noteworthy  in  every  way  in  Venice.  He 
was  an  excellent  colourist,  a keen  delineator  of 
character,  a sharp  observer  of  nature,  — all  char- 
acteristics helping  to  make  him  the  admirable  por- 
trait-painter he  is  credited  with  being.  Some  of 
the  heads  of  Antonello  are  not  unworthy  to  rank 
with  the  chief  gems  in  all  portraiture.  He  also 
painted  religious  scenes,  in  which  his  realism,  his 
power  of  depicting  emotion,  and  his  dramatic  sense 
at  times  make  these  Crucifixions  and  Pietas  posi- 
tively repulsive. 

After  living  in  Venice,  for  awhile  showing  more 
capability,  more  talent  than  ever  Gianbellini 
showed,  he  gradually  lost  hold,  and  Bellini  went 
far  ahead  of  him.  Some  of  Antonello’s  later  works 
have  a coarseness  of  execution,  a roughness  of  sur- 
face, and  a violence  of  gesture,  movement,  and 
expression  that  indicate  his  final  retrogression. 

Four  pictures  have  been  credited  to  Boccaccio 
Boccaccino  here,  but  the  new  catalogue  claims  that 
only  one  of  them  is  unquestionably  his.  This,  the 
Marriage  of  St.  Catherine,  is  considered  one  of  the 
finest  works  he  ever  achieved.  It  is  a charming 
example  of  a Santa  Conversazione , a style  of  pic- 
ture which,  begun  by  Gianbellini,  was  continued 
with  such  success  by  Palma  Vecchio  and  Titian. 


MARRIAGE  OF  ST.  CATHERINE 
By  Boccaccio  Boccaccino 


I 


IRoom  fMIL 


63 


Slightly  at  the  left,  in  the  midst  of  a varied  land- 
scape of  rolling  field,  low  mountains,  a lake,  and 
clumps  of  trees,  sits  Mary,  with  the  Child  on  her 
left  knee.  She  is  turned  three-quarters  to  the  right, 
dressed  in  a rose-coloured  robe,  blue  mantle  edged 
with  delicate  golden  emibrpidery,  and  a white  veil 
with  golden  threads.  Her  face  is  bent  to  the  baby, 
who  is  looking  up  at  her  with  an  eager,  questioning 
expression,  but  her  eyes  are  not  regarding  him. 
Instead,  half-drooped,  they  seem  to  be  searching 
for  something-  far  beyond  their  sight.  This  look, 
joined  to  the  slight  downward  curve  of  her  lips, 
gives  a pensive,  gently  melancholic  expression  lo 
her  round,  softly  modelled  face,  that  otherwise  is 
like  a baby’s  in  its  fresh  colour  and  delicate  planes. 
The  Child  is  a plump,  rosy  little  figure,  with  an 
entrancing  and  real  baby-spring  to  his  chubby  little 
frame.  While  questioning  his  mother  with  his  eyes, 
he  is  leaning  forward  toward  St.  Catherine,  who 
kneels  by  the  Madonna’s  side  in  profile  holding 
out  a ring.  St.  Rose  is  standing  in  full  face,  at  the 
right  of  Mary.  St.  Peter  kneels  still  farther  at  the 
right,  holding  out  the  keys,  and  yet  farther  over 
is  John  the  Baptist  on  one  knee,  gazing  with  ador- 
ing eyes  at  the  holy  group.  St.  Catherine  is  very 
richly  dressed,  a gold  and  red  brocade,  with  a gray 
mantle  lined  with  yellow  sweeping  down  her  shoul- 
ders and  falling  in  heavy  folds  on  the  ground  beside 


64  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Hcafcems 


her.  Her  head-dress  is  white,  lightly  striped,  and, 
as  she  kneels,  one  hand  on  her  wheel,  the  other 
stretched  forward  for  the  ring,  she  makes  a very 
striking,  and  not  unbeautiful,  figure.  Her  strongly 
marked  profile  is  full  of  deep  earnestness,  and  an 
intensity  of  longing  is  in  her  eye  and  wistful  mouth. 
St.  Rose,  in  her  flowered  white  gown,  red  mantle, 
and  gauzy  veil,  is  more  regular  in  feature,  with 
large,  wide-open  gray  eyes,  but  with  a more 
phlegmatic  expression.  Her  left  hand,  holding  up 
her  mantle,  is  exquisitely  drawn  and  modelled.  St. 
Peter  is  somewhat  conventionally  portrayed  with 
his  bald  head,  short  gray  beard,  and  a rugged  pro- 
file that  is  full  of  devotion.  Even  more  marked 
is  the  adoration  expressed  in  John’s  emaciated  face 
and  figure.  His  rough,  bearded  face,  with  its  shock 
of  tumbled  hair,  is  bent  far  forward  on  his  thin 
shoulders,  and  his  whole  soul  seems  gazing  out  from 
his  deep,  dark  eyes.  One  hand  is  pressed  against 
his  bosom  as  if  to  still  the  beating  of  his  heart. 
In  the  distance,  back  of  Mary,  is  shown  the  flight 
into  Egypt,  and  back  of  John  are  three  cavaliers 
on  horseback. 

As  a whole,  the  picture  is  full  of  clear,  bright 
colour,  of  real  piety,  and  of  carefully  studied  if 
slightly  heavy  drapery.  The  overabundance  of  the 
robe  about  Peter  is  at  least  a fine  study  of  drapery 
falling  into  heavy  folds. 


IRoom  flDfllL 


65 


The  attribution  to  Boccaccino'  of  the  Madonna 
and  Child  between  Sts.  Simon  and  Jerome  is  doubt- 
ful. The  figures  are  all  half-length.  Simon,  at  the 
left,  is  in  full  face,  with  long  beard,  eyes  that  do>  not 
exactly  focus,  a worn,  watchful  expression  on  his 
well-modelled  face.  Jerome,  at  the  right,  nearly 
in  profile,  is  bald-headed,  has  a thick,  white  beard, 
and  is  gazing  at  the  Child  with  a deeply  troubled 
expression.  Jesus,  in  Mary’s  arms,  has  a swaddling 
band  about  him,  and  is  a gay  little  specimen  of 
babyhood,  his  curly  head  lifted,  his  bright  eyes  and 
turned-up  nose  making  him  look  very  real.  The 
Madonna  has  regular  features  that  are  rather  lack- 
ing in  expression. 

The  picture,  called  by  Professor  Pietro1  Paoletti 
di  Oswaldo,  in  the  official  catalogue,  St.  John  be- 
tween Two  Apostles,  has  always  gone  by  the  name 
of  Christ  and  the  Doctors.  The  two  doctors,  or 
apostles,  are  both  in  profile,  the  older  one,  on  the 
right,  in  a yellow  robe,  the  younger,  who  might  be 
St.  John  himself,  in  red  and  blue.  The  young  boy 
in  the  centre  is  in  full  face,  dressed  in  a violet  robe. 
The  other  two*  partially  cover  him  so  that  only  a 
bit  of  his  chest,  neck,  and  head  show.  He  has 
large  eyes  and  tightly  curling  hair.  The  colouring 
of  the  picture  is  lovely.  The  heads  have  been  re- 
painted, but  the  draperies  probably  not.  Whether 
by  Boccaccino  or  not,  it  is  a picture  of  lovely  tones. 


66  Uhc  Brt  of  the  IDentce  Bcabemp 


Christ  Washing  the  Feet  of  the  Disciples  has 
been  credited  to  Perugino.  Peter  is  at  the  left, 
seated  before  a basin,  in  front  of  which  Jesus  kneels. 
The  disciple’s  protesting  face  and  gesture  are  well 
indicated,  as  is  also  the  quiet  insistence  of  the  Mas- 
ter. The  figures  are  half  the  size  of  life.  The  com- 
position is  awkward,  particularly  in  its  row  of 
disciples  who  stand  back  of  Jesus  and  Peter,  their 
heads  on  a straight  line.  There  is  considerable 
archaism  displayed  in  the  attitudes,  but  the  scene 
is  not  without  strong  touches  of  realism.  The 
heads,  especially,  are  very  splendidly  modelled, 
while  the  draperies  are  rather  too  full  of  insig- 
nificant little  folds. 

Boccaccino  was  born  in  Cremona  somewhere 
about  1460.  M.  Muntz  says  of  him  that  his  works 
are  a compromise  between  the  art  Venetian  and  the 
art  Ferrarese,  and  continues  by  remarking  that  he 
was  at  times  both  vigorous  and  tender,  while  at 
others  his  forms  were  dry  and  archaic,  his  attitudes 
clumsy.  Lanzi  claims  that  he  was  the  best  modern 
among  the  ancients  and  the  best  ancient  among  the 
moderns.  According  to  Morelli,  he  got  that  part 
of  his  art  most  worth  while  from  Alvise  Vivarini, 
from  the  Bellini,  and  from  Giorgione.  His  hardness 
of  line  and  drapery  and  a certain  rude  power  which 
he  occasionally  shows  were  probably  derived  from 
men  who  had  returned  to  Ferrara  from  Mantua, 


IRoom  flDITIL 


67 


where  they  had  been  influenced  by  Mantegna.  His 
series  of  frescoes  in  the  cathedral  in  Cremona  are 
to-day  still  considered  his  most  satisfactory  achieve- 
ment. At  one  time  he  went  to  Rome  and  executed 
an  altar-piece  for  Santa  Maria  Transpontina  which 
was  wholly  unsuccessful.  The  chief  thing  that  is 
recalled  about  his  visit  there  is  the  way  he  abused 
and  ridiculed  Michelangelo’s  works.  This  he  did 
so  publicly  that  the  Romans  in  turn  made  life  too 
wretched  for  a long  stay,  and  he  shortly  returned 
to  Cremona.  His  works  have  been  assigned  to 
Perugino,  to  the  Lombard  school,  and  even  to 
Leonardo  da  Vinci  himself.  In  his  best  achieve- 
ments he  has  depth  and  richness  of  colour,  a quick 
grace  of  movement,  joined,  at  times,  to  an  awk- 
wardness of  pose,  interesting,  often  charming,  types 
for  his  Madonnas  and  female  saints,  and  a rugged 
earnestness  in  his  male  characters.  There  is  not 
infrequently  poetic  feeling  in  his  landscapes,  in 
conjunction  with  a perspective  not  always  im- 
peccable. He  had  a great  delight  in  clothing  his 
women  in  heavy  velvet  robes  of  light,  gay  colours, 
and  ornamenting  them  with  bands  of  carefully 
wrought  embroidery  in  gold  and  colours. 

There  are  several  pictures  in  this  room  by  Gio- 
vanni Battista  Cima,  known  in  art  as  Cima  da 
Conegliano,  from  his  birthplace  in  FriuM.  The  date 
of  his  birth  is  not  definitely  decided  upon,  though 


68  ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcabemi? 


1460  is  probably  nearly  if  not  the  exact  year.  His 
death  is  usually  given  as  having  occurred  in  1517. 
Thus  born  a Friulian,  he  seems  to  have  settled  in 
Venice  very  early  in  life,  and  has  been  generally 
regarded  as  a pupil  of  Gianbellini.  Alvise  Vivarini 
has  also  been  called  his  teacher,  and  the  latter’s  in- 
fluence is  strongly  in  evidence  in  many  of  Cima’s 
pictures.  Berenson  calls  attention  to  the  similarity 
between  Cima’s  Pieta  and  Vivarini’s  St.  Sebastian, 
both  here  in  the  Academy.  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle 
say  of  him  that  “ he  is  very  masterly  in  producing 
strong  effect  by  light  and  shade.”  In  most  of  his 
pictures  he  introduces  landscape  of  Friulian  char- 
acter, with  its  hills  and  valleys  and  uneven  surfaces, 
and,  though  he  does  not  equal  Bellini  as  landscape- 
painter,  he  has  an  instinctive  feeling  for  outdoor 
life  and  the  value  of  natural  surroundings  in  his 
compositions.  The  two1  critics  above  quoted  con- 
tinue, “ Compared  with  other  painters  of  the  close 
of  the  fifteenth  century,  Cima  takes  a place  by 
Giovanni  Bellini’s  side,  similar  .to  that  held  by  Fran- 
cia  in  respect  to  Perugino.  . . . Cima  has  not  the 
largeness  or  breadth  of  shape  in  figures,  nor  the 
fibre  of  the  colourist,  which  belong  to  Bellini.  . . . 
What  he  lacks  in  grandeur  is  compensated  by  staid 
and  dignified  simplicity.  He  has  in  his  limited 
walk  all  that  is  required  to  make  him  a worthy 


fRoom  | MIL  69 

rival  of  the  best  Venetian  artists  before  the  rise  of 
the  sixteenth  century.” 

Altogether,  Cima  exercises  a fascination  that  can 
be  traced  partly  to  his  unceasing  care  and  attention 
to  detail,  partly  to  the  cleanness  as  well  as  brilliance 
of  his  palette,  partly  to  the  skilful  employment  of 
contrasts  of  light  and  shade,  but  mostly  to  his 
sincerity  and  unassumingness.  Cima  never  poses. 
He  is  as  simple  and  direct  as  Botticelli  was  suggest- 
ive and  involved.  The  subtleties  were  not  for  him. 
The  open  light  of  midday  held  a charm  for  him 
that  no  mysterious  twilight  could  ever  possess.  And 
yet,  garishness  is  the  last  sin  he  could  be  accused 
of.  It  is,  after  all,  something  of  the  naivete  of  the 
believer  of  the  mediaeval  years,  that  frame  of  mind 
farthest  removed  from  either  the  modern  scientific 
skeptic  or  the  nineteenth-century  psycho-religionist 
that  is  Cirna’s  dominating  trait.  He  comes  to  us 
like  a simple  strain  of  old  country  music,  a folk- 
song, before  modern  harmonizers  or  composers 
have  resolved  it  into<  its  original  motifs , or  used  it 
for  the  groundwork  of  a great  symphony. 

One  of  his  most  beautiful  canvases  is  Tobias  with 
the  Angel,  St.  James,  and  St.  Nicholas,  now  in  this 
room.  Originally  it  was  a painting  on  wood,  but 
in  1889  it  was  transferred  to  canvas,  suffering 
greatly  from  the  operation.  It  belonged  to  the  sup- 
pressed church  of  the  Misericordia.  According  to 


70  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabemp 


Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  it  was  painted  at  about 
the  same  time  as  the  Incredulity  of  Thomas,  in  the 
last  part  of  the  fifteenth  century.  These  critics  find 
in  it  the  same  coldness  of  execution  along  with 
the  silvery  lighting  of  that  picture.  Morelli,  while 
praising  it  as  one  of  Cima’s  most  beautiful  creations, 
uses  it  as  proof  that  the  Friulian  master  never 
abandoned  the  style  of  the  quattrocentists.  And 
indeed,  in  this,  as  in  all  of  Cima’s  works,  there  is 
little  or  none  of  that  envelope  of  atmosphere  which 
Bellini  expressed  so  clearly  in  his  later  work.  But 
in  no  picture  can  there  be  found  more  simple  ear- 
nestness and  unstudied  piety  than  in  this  representa- 
tion of  the  legend  of  Tobias.  As  a composition, 
it  is  less  satisfactory,  for,  though  the  figures  are 
well-balanced,  and  the  spotting  good,  there  is  no 
real  connection  between  the  group  made  by  the 
angel  and  Tobias  with  either  of  the  saints. 

The  scene  depicts  a rocky,  mountainous  region, 
with  castle-crowned  hills  in  the  background.  In 
the  centre,  stepping  forward  on  a rocky  ledge,  come 
Tobias  and  his  angel  guardian.  The  little  fellow 
holds  the  fish  in  his  right  hand,  while  his  left  is 
grasping  the  sleeve  of  the  angel’s  underrobe.  In 
his  red  boots,  short  blue  tunic  with  its  red  border 
that  ends  some  way  above  his  bare  knees  and  opens 
at  his  throat  and  waist  to  show  the  white  shirt 
beneath,  Tobias  is  a quaint  little  figure,  full  of  a 


IRoom  flDlf, 


71 


grace  as  childlike  as  it  is  appealing.  His  curly 
head  is  turned  up  to  the  angel,  and  he  seems  to  be 
listening  intently  to  the  directions  of  the  heavenly 
visitant.  The  latter,  whose  red  mantle  falls  over 
one  shoulder  of  his  white  tunic,  is  looking  down 
with  tender  seriousness  at  his  young  charge  while 
he  guides  him  on  his  way.  Though  he  has  a stur- 
diness and  an  almost  peasantlike  reality,  far  re- 
moved from  the  ethereal  spirituality  of  a Fra  An- 
gelico angel,  there  is  a seriousness  of  mien,  a simple 
nobility  of  bearing,  and  a certain  unconscious  sepa- 
ration from  his  surroundings  that  hardly  need  the 
addition  of  the  wings  from  his  shoulders  to  show 
his  overearthly  origin.  At  the  left  of  these  two 
stands  St.  James  reading,  his  green  tunic  and  yellow 
mantle  making  a contrast  to  the  red  and  gold  bro- 
caded dalmatic  of  Nicholas  of  Bari,  who*  stands 
facing  three-quarters  to  the  left,  the  three  purses  in 
his  right  hand,  his  air  one  of  quiet  unconcern,  with 
no  apparent  connection  with  the  subject  of  the 
picture. 

The  Pieta  is  an  early  work,  and  shows,  as  Mr. 
Berenson  has  already  been  quoted  as  saying,  his 
strong  affinity  with  Vivarini.  In  the  centre,  the 
dead  Christ,  still  crowned  with  thorns,  is  held  upon 
a stone  base  by  Nicodemus,  who  is  dressed  in  a 
yellow  mantle.  St.  John,  in  yellow  underrobe  and 
red  mantle,  is  ^t  the  right,  the  Virgin  in  gray  and 


7’2  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  IDentce  Hcabent^ 


blue,  with  white  head-dress,  at  the  left,  each  holding 
an  arm  of  the  dead  Son  and  Master.  At  each  side 
is  one  of  the  Marys,  she  at  the  left  old,  her  right 
hand  on  the  Mother’s  shoulder.  The  other,  prob- 
ably the  Magdalen,  younger,  in  a rose-toned  robe 
and  green  mantle,  has  her  hands  joined  in  prayer. 
Here  again  is  felt  the  severe  but  real  piety  of 
Cima,  a piety  that,  if  circumscribed  and  strictly 
within  the  laws  of  the  Church,  is  equally  never 
forced  or  hollow.  The  angular  draperies  and 
meagreness  of  forms  help,  raher  than  destroy,  this 
feeling. 

The  Incredulity  of  St.  Thomas,  which  Cima 
painted  for  the  School  of  the  Masons  at  Venice,  is 
in  bad  condition,  the  picture  split,  and  the  paint 
scaling  off.  In  the  centre  of  an  open-arched  por- 
tico', with  coloured  marble  trimmings,  stands  Jesus, 
his  white  mantle  leaving  his  chest  and  right  shoulder 
bare.  He  is  holding  Thomas’s  hand,  and  guiding 
it  to  the  wound  in  his  side.  The  excited,  ques- 
tioning attitude  of  the  skeptic  Thomas,  the  anxiety 
to  believe  that  struggles  with  his  intellectual  doubt, 
are  admirably  expressed  in  this  figure.  At  the 
right,  against  a pillar,  stands  St.  Nicholas,  book  and 
crozier  in  hand,  his  gorgeous  cope  embroidered  and 
figured  with  beautifully  wrought  scenes  on  the 
orphreys.  He  is  gazing  at  his  two  companions 
calmly  and  benevolently,  this  regard  being  the  only 


MADONNA  ENTHRONED  WITH  STS.  DIONYSIUS  AND  LIBERALE 
By  Cima  da  Conegliano 


IRoom  fOTf* 


73 


compositional  link  connecting  him  with  the  scene. 
A landscape  background,  with  low  hills,  is  seen 
through  the  portico*. 

The  heads  of  these  figures  are  all  admirably  con- 
ceived, and  over  all  is  the  deep,  unaffected  reverence 
that  is  characteristic  of  Cima,  as  indeed,  of  most 
Venetians  of  his  time.  There  is  equally  to*  be  felt, 
nevertheless,  the  certain  hardness  and  angularity 
and  detachment  of  figure  from  its  atmospheric  sur- 
roundings, so*  very  general  with  Cima.  The  same 
subject,  wiith  more  figures,  is  in  the  National  Gal- 
lery. 

In  the  Madonna  Enthroned  with  Sts.  Dionysius 
and  Liberale,  the  Madonna  and  Child  are  in  almost 
the  identical  positions  of  the  altar-piece  in  Room  n, 
the  chief  difference  being  that  the  baby  there  rests 
on  his  left  leg,  and  in  the  larger  work,  on  his  right. 
On  a marble  pedestal,  in  front  of  a drapery  against 
a flat  marble  wall,  the  Madonna  is  sitting  in  nearly 
full  face,  holding  the  baby  upright  on  her  left  knee. 
He  has  turned  his  head  over  his  left  shoulder,  look- 
ing down  at  St.  Liberale,  who  stands  beside  the 
throne  in  front  of  an  arched  opening  showing  the 
landscape  distance.  On  the  other  side  is  Dionysius, 
Bishop  of  S.  Vittore,  in  front  of  a similar  opening, 
his  face  in  profile.  This  architectural  background 
of  the  Madonna’s  throne  is  exquisitely  ornamented 
on  pilaster  and  framing.  In  a lunette  above  her 


74  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabemp 

head  is  Jesus  between  Peter  and  Paul.  The  colour 
of  the  whole  picture  is  wonderfully  rich  and  glow- 
ing, and  the  types  are  softer  and  less  rigid  than 
usual  with  Cima. 

Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  attribute  the  Madonna 
Enthroned  between  Sts.  John  the  Baptist  and  Paul 
to  Girolamo  da  Udine.  Berenson  and  others,  how- 
ever, give  it  to  Cima.  The  Madonna  sits  in  full 
face,  clad  in  a red  robe,  blue  mantle  and  white 
linen  head-veil  with  embroidered  border.  The 
Child  stands  upright  on  her  right  knee,  her  right 
hand  supporting  him.  His  curly  head  is  bent  far 
to  the  right  and  he  is  gazing  at  the  Baptist,  who 
stands  at  the  left  of  the  picture.  At  the  right,  read- 
ing, is  St.  Paul.  Behind  the  Mother  and  Child  is 
a brown  drapery  with  few  folds,  and  in  the  distance 
a mountainous  landscape,  holding  a castle  on  a 
rocky  height. 

This,  according  to  Mr.  Berenson,  has  character- 
istics of  Alvise  Vivarini,  of  Montagna,  and  of  Bar- 
bari.  It  is  easy  also  to  see  the  influence  of  Bellini. 
The  type  of  Madonna  is  not  unlike  Bellini’s,  though 
her  features  are  rather  more  pinched  and  there  is 
not  the  deep  feeling  in  her  face  that  can  be  found 
in  the  best  Bellini  Madonnas.  The  Child  is  a beau- 
tiful creation,  — rounded,  firm  little  body,  full  of 
life  and  spirit,  gay,  yet  tenderly  regardful  in  ex- 
pression. St.  John  is  a gaunt  figure,  his  dishevelled 


IRoont  |WIL 


75 


head  of  .curls,  his  sunken  cheeks,  and  bony  chest  re- 
calling Vivarini’s  type.  Paul  is  a well-fed,  bald- 
headed  man,  face  much  wrinkled,  hands  delicate 
and  badly  constructed,  not  indicating  much  bony 
formation.  The  Child  and  St.  John  are  both  ex- 
cellent achievements. 

Still  another  by  Cima  is  the  St.  Christopher. 
This  was  the  central  panel  of  a large  altar-piece  in 
seven  panels  painted  for  the  Scuola  dei  Mercanti. 
It  has  an  arched  top,  and  is  a narrow,  upright 
panel. 

Through  a stream,  which  is  only  half-way  up  to 
his  knees,  wades  the  gigantic  figure  of  Christopher, 
leaning  on  a staff  made  of  a whole  date-tree.  On 
his  shoulder  is  the  infant  Christ,  in  green  robe, 
holding  a globe  surmounted  by  a cross.  Christopher 
is  clad  in  a short  blue  tunic,  which  comes  just  to 
his  hips,  bound  with  a yellow  sash,  a short  cloak 
of  red  flying  about  his  shoulders.  Considerable 
movement  is  shown  in  all  these  draperies,  as  if  the 
wind  were  tossing  them  about.  His  bearded  face, 
surrounded  with  the  thick,  long  curls  that  fall  to 
his  shoulder,  is  lifted  toward  the  baby,  his  deep 
adoration  showing  in  his  big  eyes.  The  careful 
modelling  of  face,  legs,  and  arms,  does  not  entirely 
prevent  a feeling  of  archaism  in  the  whole  picture. 

Two  pictures  by  Basaiti,  the  Dead  Christ  and  the 
panel  of  the  two  saints,  Anthony  and  James,  are 


76  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  Dentce  Bcabem^ 


mediocre,  even  poor  examples  of  his  work.  The 
first  shows  the  dead  body  of  Jesus  stretched  out  on 
a board  on  top  of  a sepulchre.  He  is  beardless  and 
young,  nude,  save  for  a bit  of  drapery  about  his 
loins,  and  his  face  has  a peaceful,  calm  dignity,  un- 
marred by  any  expression  of  suffering.  He  is  lying 
with  his  hands  clasped  on  his  abdomen,  his  face 
bent  sidewise,  bringing  it  into  three-quarters  posi- 
tion. There  is  a cruel  gash  in  one  side  and  the 
nail-marks  gleam  from  the  hands  and  feet,  but  the 
body  is  far  less  emaciated  than  the  early  artists  were 
wont  to-  depict  it.  Two  smiling  little  putti  are 
at  his  head  and  feet,  regarding  him  with  a tender 
cheerfulness  strangely  at  variance  with  the  nature 
of  the  scene.  A landscape  of  rugged,  rocky  slope 
stretches  out  back  of  the  group. 

The  two  saints  are  standing  in  a Gothic-shaped 
niche,  Anthony,  with  a long  beard  divided  in  the 
middle,  holding  a book  in  one  hand,  his  bell  at  his 
feet,  James  with  a book  and  staff.  Of  the  two, 
Anthony’s  head  and  face  are  much  the  better  drawn 
and  modelled. 

Marco'  Basaiti  was  possibly  a native  of  Friuli, 
but  more  likely  he  was  born  in  Venice,  somewhere 
near  1470.  It  is  thought  that  at  first  he  was  an 
assistant  of  Alvise  Vivarini,  and,  until  after  1500, 
his  style  is  distinctly  Muranese.  Gradually,  under 
the  influence  of  Bellini  and  Palma,  he  loses  his 


IRooin  fOTIC 


77 


hard  outlines,  his  opacity,  and  acquires  a stronger 
sense  of  the  value  of  light  and  shade.  Whereas, 
consequently,  his  earlier  pictures,  like  these  in  the 
Academy,  are  hard,  angular,  and  primitive  in  con- 
struction and  handling,  his  latest  ones  are  soft, 
brilliant,  and  with  abrupt  transitions  from  light  to 
shade.  He  seems,  chameleonlike,  to  have  adopted 
the  outer  characteristics  of  the  men  with  whom  he 
came  in  contact,  but  underneath  all  can  be  discovered 
the  original  Basaiti,  with  what  critics  have  called 
his  “ emptiness  and  monotone.”  At  the  same  time 
he  has  a certain  dignity  and  earnestness  of  expres- 
sion that  place  him  above  a mere  imitator. 

Vicenzo  di  Biagio,  better  known  as  Catena,  was 
a pupil  of  Bellini,  and  was  born  probably  about 
1477.  He  died  in  Venice  in  1531.  He  has  usually 
been  credited  with  being  merely  an  imitator,  first 
of  Bellini,  and  later  of  Giorgione,  and,  until  Morelli 
directed  attention  to  him,  was  not  even  given  place 
as  a second-rate  artist.  Vasari,  however,  had  ac- 
corded him  great  praise  as  a portrait-painter,  and 
Morelli  claims  that  many  of  his  works  have  been 
ascribed  to  Bellini,  and  also  to  Giorgione,  so  that  he 
is  not  known  at  his  true  worth.  According  to 
Morelli,  after  he  had  become  influenced  by  Gior- 
gione, he  became  a really  splendid  colourist. 

The  three  works  by  him  here  give  little  hint  of 
his  later  powers.  The  two>  saints,  Augustine  and 


78  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcabems 


Jerome,  have  been  so  tremendously  repainted  that 
their  original  state  can  only  be  surmised.  The  Ma- 
donna and  Child  with  John  the  Baptist  and  Jerome 
is  an  early  work,  showing  the  influence  of  Bellini, 
and  probably,  too,  of  Vivarini.  The  severity  of 
Mary’s  countenance  is  the  most  noticeable  thing 
in  the  picture. 

Catena’s  best  works  are  in  the  National  Gallery 
and  in  the  Mater  Domini  in  Venice. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


ROOM  XVIII. SALA  DI  GIOVANNI  BELLINI 

With  the  exception  of  the  one  picture  by  his 
father,  Room  18  is  given  up  entirely  to  the  works 
of  Giovanni  Bellini. 

If  the  Vivarini  of  Murano  were  the  first  of  the 
Venetians  to  make  any  successful  attempt  to  throw 
off  the  yoke  of  the  Byzantine  traditions,  another 
school  was  to  achieve  a more  complete  and  lasting 
freedom,  a freedom  which  was  to  land  it,  almost 
with  one  bound,  among  the  great  schools  of  paint- 
ing of  all  time.  Jacobo  or  Jacopo  Bellini,  whose 
Mother  and  Child  is  in  this  room,  was  the  father  of 
the  founder  of  this  greater  school,  if,  indeed,  he  may 
not  be  called  the  founder  himself.  Like  Antonio 
Vivarini,  Jocobo  was  a pupil  of  Gentile  da  Fabriano, 
following  that  master  in  his  travels,  and  once,  at 
least,  getting  into  prison  for  belabouring  some  of 
Gentile’s  enemies.  Born  somewhere  near  1400, 
Jacobo  was  in  Padua  for  a number  of  years,  where, 
in  his  workshop,  he  had  many  assistants,  among 
them  being  his  two  sons,  Gentile  and  Giovanni,  as 
well  as  Mantegna,  who  later  married  his  daughter 

79 


8o  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Wenice  Ecabems 


Niccolosia.  What  he  really  could  accomplish,  and 
how  considerable  an  advance  his  art  was  over  that 
of  contemporary  Venetian  painters,  is  best  indicated 
in  his  sketch-book  now  in  the  British  Museum.  In 
that,  the  studies  for  individual  figures,  the  sketches 
for  compositions,  the  drawings  of  statues,  the  bits 
of  architecture,  all  show  the  artist’s  attempt  to  go 
to  nature  for  guidance,  and  show  too  that  he  not 
infrequently  overcame  the  Greek  tendencies  and  tra- 
ditions to  a considerable  extent.  The  few  ex- 
tant paintings  that  are  unquestionably  his  are  all 
too  much  restored  to  demonstrate  his  ability  as  a 
painter. 

This  is  the  case  with  the  Madonna  and  Child 
here,  which  has  been  so  thoroughly  repainted  that 
little  of  the  original  surface  can  be  discerned.  The 
Madonna,  a half-length  figure,  her  mantle  sage 
green  lined  with  dead  leaf  colour,  holds  her  arms 
about  the  baby  who  is  seated  on  a round  cricket 
on  a stone  parapet  before  her.  He  is  dressed  in  a 
crimson  tunic,  with  a border  made  of  Oriental  char- 
acters in  gold.  In  his  left  hand  is  an  apple,  and 
his  right  is  raised  in  benediction.  Making  the  bor- 
der of  the  halos  about  their  heads  are  also1  Orien- 
tal letters  of  gold.  The  Madonna’s  face  is  a very 
long  oval  with  half-closed,  heavy-lidded  eyes  and 
eyebrows  highly  arched.  Numberless  cherubim 
painted  on  a black  background  are  behind  the  two. 


MADONNA  AND  CHILD 

By  Jacopo  Bellini 


Sala  M <3iopanni  Bellini 


81 


The  inscription,  “ Opus  Jacobi  Bellini,  Veneti,”  is 
on  the  frame,  not  on  the  work  itself,  but  the  frame 
is  probably  of  the  same  date  as  the  picture.  Only 
in  the  general  lines  of  this  painting  can  Bellini’s 
hand  be  discerned. 

According  to  Vasari,  Giovanni  Bellini  was  older 
than  his  brother  Gentile.  It  is  pretty  definitely  set- 
tled now  that  in  reality  he  was  a year  or  two 
younger,  — the  date  of  Gentile’s  birth  being  usually 
placed  at  1426,  and  Giovanni’s  at  1427  or  1428. 
Gianbellini,  as  he  is  called  in  contemporary  records, 
was  the  greatest  Venetian  master  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  More  than  that,  he  was  the  teacher  of 
Giorgione  and  Titian,  and  in  his  later  works  can  be 
found  the  source  of  the  heights  reached  by  the 
V enetian  school  in  the  sixteenth  century.  Like 
Gentile,  his  first  teacher  was  his  father,  and  like 
Gentile  also,  his  earliest  work  was  strongly  Paduan 
in  character.  More  than  any  other  one  thing  which 
helped  to  direct  his  efforts  can  be  counted  the  in- 
fluence of  Mantegna.  Each  owes  much  to*  the  other, 
but,  at  least  for  all  the  earlier  part  of  his  life,  Gio- 
vanni is  more  indebted  to  Mantegna  than  to  any 
one  else,  and  more  than  the  Paduan  is  to  him.  No 
painter,  perhaps,  shows  a more  continuous  and  un- 
failing progress,  throughout,  too,  so  long  a life,  as 
Gianbellini.  That  it  was  a very  slow  progress,  that 
only  bit  by  bit,  sometimes  almost  imperceptibly,  did 


82  Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  \Dentce  Hcabem^ 


he  advance  to  the  step  beyond  present  achievement, 
is  due  possibly  to  a certain  slowness  of  assimila- 
tion, not  to  any  lack  of  inherent  ability.  For 
Bellini’s  genius  was  not  merely  industry  and  per- 
severance. No  labour,  ever  so  hard  or  protracted, 
could  alone  produce  the  glorious  masterpieces  of 
Bellini’s  middle  and  later  life.  His  ripening  was 
slow,  but  it  was  the  ripening  of  perfect  fruit,  — and 
each  stage  of  it  had  its  own  beauty,  its  own  charm, 
and  held  within  it  the  promise  of  the  future  perfec- 
tion. The  man  never  seemed  to  be  at  the  limit  of 
his  powers.  Perhaps  the  greatest  fascination  of 
his  greatest  pictures  is  the  sense  they  convey  that 
there  is  no  “ last  word  ” of  their  creator.  Wonder- 
fully beautiful  as  they  are,  there  is  none  of  that 
finality  about  them  that  leads  one  to  say,  with  a 
hint  of  disappointed  satiety  at  the  completeness, 
“ Here  is  as  far  as  he  can  go.  Never  again  can  he 
exceed  that  result.”  Rather,  each  work  seems  to 
hint  of  greater  and  more  perfect  possibilities,  with- 
out in  the  least  diminishing  its  own  glories.  And 
surely  nothing  in  art  is  more  inspiring  than  to 
remember  how,  an  old  man  of  eighty,  with  laurels 
heaped  upon  his  brow,  at  an  age  when  even  great 
genius  can  and  does  claim  rest,  — even  then  his 
unquenchable  spirit  could  not  let  him  pause.  Gior- 
gione, a mere  boy,  a pupil  of  his  own,  was  begin- 
ning to  show  an  art  that,  growth  of  his  as  it  was, 


Sala  M Oiovanm  Bellini 


83 


was  giving  promise  of  being  able  to  achieve  far 
more  than  the  old  Venetian  had  yet  accomplished. 
That  was  enough  for  Bellini.  Most  would  not  even 
have  seen  a new  ideal.  Bellini  at  once  perceived 
that  here  was  something  beyond  him,  and  began 
to>  study  the  young  Giorgione ! 

Bellini,  of  all  the  painters  of  Venice,  has  the 
truest,  deepest,  most  touching  piety.  Without  ex- 
aggeration, with  a calmness  that  is  seldom  moved 
to  tragic  flutters,  he  has  a devoutness,  a religious 
spirit,  that  no  other  Venetian  ever  approaches.  If 
not  one  of  the  greatest  of  draughtsmen,  his  draw- 
ing was  sufficiently  solid  and  actual,  and  no  other 
painter  in  Venice,  as  well  as  all  the  rest  of  Italy, 
ever  equalled  the  golden  tone  of  his  palette.  There 
is  something  about  the  flesh  as  Gianbellini  painted 
it  that  no  one  else  has  expressed.  It  has  a glow 
that  seems  to  come  from  within  and  spread  through 
the  flesh.  There  is  no  analyzing  it.  It  seems  as  if 
it  was  something  that  had  been  breathed  into  it. 
Even  Titian  in  the  height  of  his  power,  though 
perhaps  as  rich  or  even  more  powerfully  pulsing 
in  gorgeous  tones,  is  never  quite  like  Gianbellini. 

Of  Bellini’s  ten  pictures,  all  of  the  Madonna  and 
Child,  which  are  in  the  Academy,  nine  are  in  this 
room.  Many  of  them  are  much  repainted,  two 
of  the  earliest  being  so  thoroughly  done  over  that 
there  can  be  only  guessing  as  to  their  first  condition. 


84  tfbe  Hrf  or  tbe  IDentce  Bcabem$ 


One  of  these,  the  Virgin  on  a Throne  with  the 
Sleeping  Child  on  Her  Knees,  has  some  indication 
of  the  Paduan  character  it  must  have  first  shown, 
and  the  other,  with  the  Madonna  holding  the  Child 
upright  on  a parapet  before  her  while  he  makes 
the  sign  of  blessing,  may  not  be  by  Bellini  at  all. 
If  his  work,  it  was  of  his  earliest  days,  and  in 
spite  of  the  villainous  repainting  also  shows  the 
Paduan  influences. 

The  Madonna  and  Child  with  the  Glory  of 
Cherubs  was  painted  probably  at  the  end  of  what 
is  called  his  second  period,  when,  as  Mr.  Fry  ob- 
serves, “ his  aim  was  to  obtain  perfectly  modulated 
transitions  of  tone  within  a precise  contour.”  It, 
too,  has  been  much  repainted.  The  Madonna  is 
a half-length  figure,  standing  behind  a rampart  or 
wall.  She  holds  the  Child  on  her  left  knee,  gazing 
at  him  with  tenderness,  one  hand  coming  up  on  to 
his  back,  the  long  fingers  of  the  other  delicately 
pressing  against  his  chest.  He  has  on  a one-piece 
garment,  with  low  sleeves  and  tiny  trousers,  both 
pulled  far  up,  showing  arms  and  legs  nearly  bare. 
His  whole  regard  is  given  to*  the  six  fat  little 
cherubs  up  in  the  sky,  who  seem  to  be  singing  for 
his  special  enjoyment.  Behind  is  a landscape  with 
low-lying  hills  and  a curving,  twisting,  tree-bor- 
dered river. 

The  realism  of  the  chubby  babe,  with  his 


IRoom  69 

rival  of  the  best  Venetian  artists  before  the  rise  of 
the  sixteenth  century.” 

Altogether,  Cima  exercises  a fascination  that  can 
be  traced  partly  to  his  unceasing  care  and  attention 
to  detail,  partly  to  the  cleanness  as  well  as  brilliance 
of  his  palette,  partly  to  the  skilful  employment  of 
contrasts  of  light  and  shade,  but  mostly  to  his 
sincerity  and  unassumingness.  Cima  never  poses. 
He  is  as  simple  and  direct  as  Botticelli  was  suggest- 
ive and  involved.  The  subtleties  were  not  for  him. 
The  open  light  of  midday  held  a charm  for  him 
that  no  mysterious  twilight  could  ever  possess.  And 
yet,  garishness  is  the  last  sin  he  could  be  accused 
of.  It  is,  after  all,  something  of  the  naivete  of  the 
believer  of  the  mediaeval  years,  that  frame  of  mind 
farthest  removed  from  either  the  modern  scientific 
skeptic  or  the  nineteenth-century  psycho-religionist 
that  is  Cirna’s  dominating  trait.  He  comes  to  us 
like  a simple  strain  of  old  country  music,  a folk- 
song, before  modern  harmonizers  or  composers 
have  resolved  it  into*  its  original  motifs , or  used  it 
for  the  groundwork  of  a great  symphony. 

One  of  his  most  beautiful  canvases  is  Tobias  with 
the  Angel,  St.  James,  and  St.  Nicholas,  now  in  this 
room.  Originally  it  was  a painting  on  wood,  but 
in  1889  it  was  transferred  to  canvas,  suffering 
greatly  from  the  operation.  It  belonged  to  the  sup- 
pressed church  of  the  Misericordia.  According  to 


7-2 


Ube  Brt  of  tbe  Venice  Hcabems 


blue,  with  white  head-dress,  at  the  left,  each  holding 
an  arm  of  the  dead  Son  and  Master.  At  each  side 
is  one  of  the  Marys,  she  at  the  left  old,  her  right 
hand  on  the  Mother’s  shoulder.  The  other,  prob- 
ably the  Magdalen,  younger,  in  a rose-toned  robe 
and  green  mantle,  has  her  hands  joined  in  prayer. 
Here  again  is  felt  the  severe  but  real  piety  of 
Cima,  a piety  that,  if  circumscribed  and  strictly 
within  the  laws  of  the  Church,  is  equally  never 
forced  or  hollow.  The  angular  draperies  and 
meagreness  of  forms  help,  raher  than  destroy,  this 
feeling. 

The  Incredulity  of  St.  Thomas,  which  Cima 
painted  for  the  School  of  the  Masons  at  Venice,  is 
in  bad  condition,  the  picture  split,  and  the  paint 
scaling  off.  In  the  centre  of  an  open-arched  por- 
tico', with  coloured  marble  trimmings,  stands  Jesus, 
his  white  mantle  leaving  his  chest  and  right  shoulder 
bare.  He  is  holding  Thomas’s  hand,  and  guiding 
it  to  the  wound  in  his  side.  The  excited,  ques- 
tioning attitude  of  the  skeptic  Thomas,  the  anxiety 
to  believe  that  struggles  with  his  intellectual  doubt, 
are  admirably  expressed  in  this  figure.  At  the 
right,  against  a pillar,  stands  St.  Nicholas,  book  and 
crozier  in  hand,  his  gorgeous  cope  embroidered  and 
figured  with  beautifully  wrought  scenes  on  the 
orphreys.  He  is  gazing  at  his  two  companions 
calmly  and  benevolently,  this  regard  being  the  only 


MADONNA  ENTHRONED  WITH  STS.  DIONYSIUS  AND  LIBERALE 
By  Cima  da  Conegliano 


IRoom  f OTI. 


73 


compositional  link  connecting  him  with  the  scene. 
A landscape  background,  with  low  hills,  is  seen 
through  the  portico. 

The  heads  of  these  figures  are  all  admirably  con- 
ceived, and  over  all  is  the  deep,  unaffected  reverence 
that  is  characteristic  of  Cima,  as  indeed,  of  most 
Venetians  of  his  time.  There  is  equally  to  be  felt, 
nevertheless,  the  certain  hardness  and  angularity 
and  detachment  of  figure  from  its  atmospheric  sur- 
roundings, so  very  general  with  Cima.  The  same 
subject,  wiith  more  figures,  is  in  the  National  Gal- 
lery. 

In  the  Madonna  Enthroned  with  Sts.  Dionysius 
and  Liberale,  the  Madonna  and  Child  are  in  almost 
the  identical  positions  of  the  altar-piece  in  Room  n, 
the  chief  difference  being  that  the  baby  there  rests 
on  his  left  leg,  and  in  the  larger  work,  on  his  right. 
On  a marble  pedestal,  in  front  of  a drapery  against 
a flat  marble  wall,  the  Madonna  is  sitting  in  nearly 
full  face,  holding  the  baby  upright  on  her  left  knee. 
He  has  turned  his  head  over  his  left  shoulder,  look- 
ing  down  at  St.  Liberale,  who  stands  beside  the 
throne  in  front  of  an  arched  opening  showing  the 
landscape  distance.  On  the  other  side  is  Dionysius, 
Bishop  of  S.  Vittore,  in  front  of  a similar  opening, 
his  face  in  profile.  This  architectural  background 
of  the  Madonna’s  throne  is  exquisitely  ornamented 
on  pilaster  and  framing.  In  a lunette  above  her 


74  Xlfoe  Brt  ot  tbe  IDentce  Bcabemp 


head  is  Jesus  between  Peter  and  Paul.  The  colour 
of  the  whole  picture  is  wonderfully  rich  and  glow- 
ing, and  the  types  are  softer  and  less  rigid  than 
usual  with  Cima. 

Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  attribute  the  Madonna 
Enthroned  between  Sts.  John  the  Baptist  and  Paul 
to  Girolamo  da  Udine.  Berenson  and  others,  how- 
ever, give  it  to  Cima.  The  Madonna  sits  in  full 
face,  clad  in  a red  robe,  blue  mantle  and  white 
linen  head-veil  with  embroidered  border.  The 
Child  stands  upright  on  her  right  knee,  her  right 
hand  supporting  him.  His  curly  head  is  bent  far 
to  the  right  and  he  is  gazing  at  the  Baptist,  who 
stands  at  the  left  of  the  picture.  At  the  right,  read- 
ing, is  St.  Paul.  Behind  the  Mother  and  Child  is 
a brown  drapery  with  few  folds,  and  in  the  distance 
a mountainous  landscape,  holding  a castle  on  a 
rocky  height. 

This,  according  to  Mr.  Berenson,  has  character- 
istics of  Alvise  Vivarini,  of  Montagna,  and  of  Bar- 
bari.  It  is  easy  also  to  see  the  influence  of  Bellini. 
The  type  of  Madonna  is  not  unlike  Bellini’s,  though 
her  features  are  rather  more  pinched  and  there  is 
not  the  deep  feeling  in  her  face  that  can  be  found 
in  the  best  Bellini  Madonnas.  The  Child  is  a beau- 
tiful creation,  — rounded,  firm  little  body,  full  of 
life  and  spirit,  gay,  yet  tenderly  regardful  in  ex- 
pression. St.  John  is  a gaunt  figure,  his  dishevelled 


IRoom  il^lTIT. 


75 


head  of  curls,  his  sunken  cheeks,  and  bony  chest  re- 
calling Vivarini’s  type.  Paul  is  a well-fed,  bald- 
headed  man,  face  much  wrinkled,  hands  delicate 
and  badly  constructed,  not  indicating  much  bony 
formation.  The  Child  and  St.  John  are  both  ex- 
cellent achievements. 

Still  another  by  Cima  is  the  St.  Christopher. 
This  was  the  central  panel  of  a large  altar-piece  in 
seven  panels  painted  for  the  Scuola  dei  Mercanti. 
It  has  an  arched  top,  and  is  a narrow,  upright 
panel. 

Through  a stream,  which  is  only  half-way  up  to 
his  knees,  wades  the  gigantic  figure  of  Christopher, 
leaning  on  a staff  made  of  a whole  date-tree.  On 
his  shoulder  is  the  infant  Christ,  in  green  robe, 
holding  a globe  surmounted  by  a cross.  Christopher 
is  clad  in  a short  blue  tunic,  which  comes  just  to' 
his  hips,  bound  with  a yellow  sash,  a short  cloak 
of  red  flying  about  his  shoulders.  Considerable 
movement  is  shown  in  all  these  draperies,  as  if  the 
wind  were  tossing  them  about.  His  bearded  face, 
surrounded  with  the  thick,  long  curls  that  fall  to 
his  shoulder,  is  lifted  toward  the  baby,  his  deep 
adoration  showing  in  his  big  eyes.  The  careful 
modelling  of  face,  legs,  and  arms,  does  not  entirely 
prevent  a feeling  of  archaism  in  the  whole  picture. 

Two  pictures  by  Basaiti,  the  Dead  Christ  and  the 
panel  of  the  two  saints,  Anthony  and  James,  are 


76  Ube  Brt  of  tbc  IDentce  Hcabem^ 


mediocre,  even  poor  examples  of  his  work.  The 
first  shows  the  dead  body  of  Jesus  stretched  out  on 
a board  on  top  of  a sepulchre.  He  is  beardless  and 
young,  nude,  save  for  a bit  of  drapery  about  his 
loins,  and  his  face  has  a peaceful,  calm  dignity,  un- 
marred by  any  expression  of  suffering.  He  is  lying 
with  his  hands  clasped  on  his  abdomen,  his  face 
bent  sidewise,  bringing  it  into  three-quarters  posi- 
tion. There  is  a cruel  gash  in  one  side  and  the 
nail-marks  gleam  from  the  hands  and  feet,  but  the 
body  is  far  less  emaciated  than  the  early  artists  were 
wont  to'  depict  it.  Two  smiling  little  putti  are 
at  his  head  and  feet,  regarding  him  with  a tender 
cheerfulness  strangely  at  variance  with  the  nature 
of  the  scene.  A landscape  of  rugged,  rocky  slope 
stretches  out  back  of  the  group. 

The  two  saints  are  standing  in  a Gothic-shaped 
niche,  Anthony,  with  a long  beard  divided  in  the 
middle,  holding  a book  in  one  hand,  his  bell  at  his 
feet,  James  with  a book  and  staff.  Of  the  two, 
Anthony’s  head  and  face  are  much  the  better  drawn 
and  modelled. 

Marco'  Basaiti  was  possibly  a native  of  Friuli, 
but  more  likely  he  was  born  in  Venice,  somewhere 
near  1470.  It  is  thought  that  at  first  he  was  an 
assistant  of  Alvise  Vivarini,  and,  until  after  1500, 
his  style  is  distinctly  Muranese.  Gradually,  under 
the  influence  of  Bellini  and  Palma,  he  loses  his 


IRoom  fMIL 


77 


hard  outlines,  his  opacity,  and  acquires  a stronger 
sense  of  the  value  of  light  and  shade.  Whereas, 
consequently,  his  earlier  pictures,  like  these  in  the 
Academy,  are  hard,  angular,  and  primitive  in  con- 
struction and  handling,  his  latest  ones  are  soft, 
brilliant,  and  with  abrupt  transitions  from  light  to 
shade.  He  seems,  chameleonlike,  to  have  adopted 
the  outer  characteristics  of  the  men  with  whom  he 
came  in  contact,  but  underneath  all  can  be  discovered 
the  original  Basaiti,  with  what  critics  have  called 
his  “ emptiness  and  monotone.”  At  the  same  time 
he  has  a certain  dignity  and  earnestness  of  expres- 
sion that  place  him  above  a mere  imitator. 

Vicenzo  di  Biagio,  better  known  as  Catena,  was 
a pupil  of  Bellini,  and  was  born  probably  about 
1477.  He  died  in  Venice  in  1531.  He  has  usually 
been  credited  with  being  merely  an  imitator,  first 
of  Bellini,  and  later  of  Giorgione,  and,  until  Morelli 
directed  attention  to  him,  was  not  even  given  place 
as  a second-rate  artist.  Vasari,  however,  had  ac- 
corded him  great  praise  as  a portrait-painter,  and 
Morelli  claims  that  many  of  his  works  have  been 
ascribed  to  Bellini,  and  also  to  Giorgione,  so  that  he 
is  not  known  at  his  true  worth.  According  to 
Morelli,  after  he  had  become  influenced  by  Gior- 
gione, he  became  a really  splendid  colourist. 

The  three  works  by  him  here  give  little  hint  of 
his  later  powers.  The  two1  saints,  Augustine  and 


78  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcabents 


Jerome,  have  been  so  tremendously  repainted  that 
their  original  state  can  only  be  surmised.  The  Ma- 
donna and  Child  with  John  the  Baptist  and  Jerome 
is  an  early  work,  showing  the  influence  of  Bellini, 
and  probably,  too,  of  Vivarini.  The  severity  of 
Mary’s  countenance  is  the  most  noticeable  thing 
in  the  picture. 

Catena’s  best  works  are  in  the  National  Gallery 
and  in  the  Mater  Domini  in  Venice. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


ROOM  XVIII.  — - SALA  DI  GIOVANNI  BELLINI 

With  the  exception  of  the  one  picture  by  his 
father,  Room  18  is  given  up  entirely  to  the  works 
of  Giovanni  Bellini. 

If  the  Vivarini  of  Murano  were  the  first  of  the 
Venetians  to  make  any  successful  attempt  to  throw 
off  the  yoke  of  the  Byzantine  traditions,  another 
school  was  to  achieve  a more  complete  and  lasting 
freedom,  a freedom  which  was  to  land  it,  almost 
with  one  bound,  among  the  great  schools  of  paint- 
ing of  all  time.  Jacobo  or  Jacopo  Bellini,  whose 
Mother  and  Child  is  in  this  room,  was  the  father  of 
the  founder  of  this  greater  school,  if,  indeed,  he  may 
not  be  called  the  founder  himself.  Like  Antonio 
Vivarini,  Jocobo  was  a pupil  of  Gentile  da  Fabriano, 
following  that  master  in  'his  travels,  and  once,  at 
least,  getting  into  prison  for  belabouring  some  of 
Gentile’s  enemies.  Born  somewhere  near  1400, 
Jacobo  was  in  Padua  for  a number  of  years,  where, 
in  his  workshop,  he  had  many  assistants,  among 
them  being  his  two  sons,  Gentile  and  Giovanni,  as 
well  as  Mantegna,  who  later  married  his  daughter 

79 


8o  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Wenice  Hcabentp 


Niccolosia.  What  he  really  could  accomplish,  and 
how  considerable  an  advance  his  art  was  over  that 
of  contemporary  Venetian  painters,  is  best  indicated 
in  his  sketch-book  now  in  the  British  Museum.  In 
that,  the  studies  for  individual  figures,  the  sketches 
for  compositions,  the  drawings  of  statues,  the  bits 
of  architecture,  all  show  the  artist’s  attempt  to  go 
to  nature  for  guidance,  and  show  too  that  he  not 
infrequently  overcame  the  Greek  tendencies  and  tra- 
ditions to  a considerable  extent.  The  few  ex- 
tant paintings  that  are  unquestionably  his  are  all 
too  much  restored  to  demonstrate  his  ability  as  a 
painter. 

This  is  the  case  with  the  Madonna  and  Child 
here,  which  has  been  so  thoroughly  repainted  that 
little  of  the  original  surface  can  be  discerned.  The 
Madonna,  a half-length  figure,  her  mantle  sage 
green  lined  with  dead  leaf  colour,  holds  her  arms 
about  the  baby  who  is  seated  on  a round  cricket 
on  a stone  parapet  before  her.  He  is  dressed  in  a 
crimson  tunic,  with  a border  made  of  Oriental  char- 
acters in  gold.  In  his  left  hand  is  an  apple,  and 
his  right  is  raised  in  benediction.  Making  the  bor- 
der of  the  halos  about  their  heads  are  also  Orien- 
tal letters  of  gold.  The  Madonna’s  face  is  a very 
long  oval  with  half-closed,  heavy-lidded  eyes  and 
eyebrows  highly  arched.  Numberless  cherubim 
painted  on  a black  background  are  behind  the  two. 


MADONNA  AND  CHILD 

By  Jacopo  Bellini 


Sala  M 61ot>anni  BeiUnt 


81 


The  inscription,  “ Opus  Jacobi  Bellini,  Veneti,”  is 
on  the  frame,  not  on  the  work  itself,  but  the  frame 
is  probably  of  the  same  date  as  the  picture.  Only 
in  the  general  lines  of  this  painting  can  Bellini’s 
hand  be  discerned. 

According  to  Vasari,  Giovanni  Bellini  was  older 
than  his  brother  Gentile.  It  is  pretty  definitely  set- 
tled now  that  in  reality  he  was  a year  or  two 
younger,  — the  date  of  Gentile’s  birth  being  usually 
placed  at  1426,  and  Giovanni’s  at  1427  or  1428. 
Gianbellini,  as  he  is  called  in  contemporary  records, 
was  the  greatest  Venetian  master  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  More  than  that,  he  was  the  teacher  of 
Giorgione  and  Titian,  and  in  his  later  works  can  be 
found  the  source  of  the  heights  reached  by  the 
Venetian  school  in  the  sixteenth  century.  Like 
Gentile,  his  first  teacher  was  his  father,  and  like 
Gentile  also,  his  earliest  work  was  strongly  Paduan 
in  character.  More  than  apy  other  one  thing  which 
helped  to  direct  his  efforts  can  be  counted  the  in- 
fluence of  Mantegna.  Each  owes  much  to  the  other, 
but,  at  least  for  all  the  earlier  part  of  his  life,  Gio- 
vanni is  more  indebted  to  Mantegna  than  to>  any 
one  else,  and  more  than  the  Paduan  is  to  him.  No 
painter,  perhaps,  shows  a more  continuous  and  un- 
failing progress,  throughout,  too,  so  long  a life,  as 
Gianbellini.  That  it  was  a very  slow  progress,  that 
only  bit  by  bit,  sometimes  almost  imperceptibly,  did 


82  Zhc  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcafcent# 


he  advance  to  the  step  beyond  present  achievement, 
is  due  possibly  to  a certain  slowness  of  assimila- 
tion, not  to  any  lack  of  inherent  ability.  For 
Bellini’s  genius  was  not  merely  industry  and  per- 
severance. No  labour,  ever  so  hard  or  protracted, 
could  alone  produce  the  glorious  masterpieces  of 
Bellini’s  middle  and  later  life.  His  ripening  was 
slow,  but  it  was  the  ripening  of  perfect  fruit,  — and 
each  stage  of  it  had  its  own  beauty,  its  own  charm, 
and  held  within  it  the  promise  of  the  future  perfec- 
tion. The  man  never  seemed  to  be  at  the  limit  of 
his  powers.  Perhaps  the  greatest  fascination  of 
his  greatest  pictures  is  the  sense  they  convey  that 
there  is  no  “ last  word  ” of  their  creator.  Wonder- 
fully beautiful  as  they  are,  there  is  none  of  that 
finality  about  them  that  leads  one  to  say,  with  a 
hint  of  disappointed  satiety  at  the  completeness, 
“ Here  is  as  far  as  he  can  go.  Never  again  can  he 
exceed  that  result.”  Rather,  each  work  seems  to 
hint  of  greater  and  more  perfect  possibilities,  with- 
out in  the  least  diminishing  its  own  glories.  And 
surely  nothing  in  art  is  more  inspiring  than  to 
remember  how,  an  old  man  of  eighty,  with  laurels 
heaped  upon  his  brow,  at  an  age  when  even  great 
genius  can  and  does  claim  rest,  — even  then  his 
unquenchable  spirit  could  not  let  him  pause.  Gior- 
gione, a mere  boy,  a pupil  of  his  own,  was  begin- 
ning to  show  an  art  that,  growth  of  his  as  it  was, 


Sala  M Giovanni  Bellini 


83 


was  giving  promise  of  being  able  to  achieve  far 
more  than  the  old  Venetian  had  yet  accomplished. 
That  was  enough  for  Bellini.  Most  would  not  even 
have  seen  a new  ideal.  Bellini  at  once  perceived 
that  here  was  something  beyond  him,  and  began 
to  study  the  young  Giorgione ! 

Bellini,  of  all  the  painters  of  Venice,  has  the 
truest,  deepest,  most  touching  piety.  Without  ex- 
aggeration, with  a calmness  that  is  seldom  moved 
to  tragic  flutters,  he  has  a devoutness,  a religious 
spirit,  that  no  other  Venetian  ever  approaches.  If 
not  one  of  the  greatest  of  draughtsmen,  his  draw- 
ing was  sufficiently  solid  and  actual,  and  no  other 
painter  in  Venice,  as  well  as  all  the  rest  of  Italy, 
ever  equalled  the  golden  tone  of  his  palette.  There 
is  something  about  the  flesh  as  Gianbellini  painted 
it  that  no  one  else  has  expressed.  It  has  a glow 
that  seems  to  come  from  within  and  spread  through 
the  flesh.  There  is  no  analyzing  it.  It  seems  as  if 
it  was  something  that  had  been  breathed  into  it. 
Even  Titian  in  the  height  of  his  power,  though 
perhaps  as  rich  or  even  more  powerfully  pulsing 
in  gorgeous  tones,  is  never  quite  like  Gianbellini. 

Of  Bellini’s  ten  pictures,  all  of  the  Madonna  and 
Child,  which  are  in  the  Academy,  nine  are  in  this 
room.  Many  of  them  are  much  repainted,  two 
of  the  earliest  being  so  thoroughly  done  over  that 
there  can  be  only  guessing  as  to  their  first  condition. 


84  Ubc  Brt  ot  tbe  IDcntce  Bcabem^ 


One  of  these,  the  Virgin  on  a Throne  with  the 
Sleeping  Child  on  Her  Knees,  has  some  indication 
of  the  Paduan  character  it  must  have  first  shown, 
and  the  other,  with  the  Madonna  holding  the  Child 
upright  on  a parapet  before  her  while  he  makes 
the  sign  of  blessing,  may  not  be  by  Bellini  at  all. 
If  his  work,  it  was  of  his  earliest  days,  and  in 
spite  of  the  villainous  repainting  also  shows  the 
Paduan  influences. 

The  Madonna  and  Child  with  the  Glory  of 
Cherubs  was  painted  probably  at  the  end  of  what 
is  called  his  second  period,  when,  as  Mr.  Fry  ob- 
serves, “ his  aim  was  to  obtain  perfectly  modulated 
transitions  of  tone  within  a precise  contour.”  It, 
too,  has  been  much  repainted.  The  Madonna  is 
a half-length  figure,  standing  behind  a rampart  or 
wall.  She  holds  the  Child  on  her  left  knee,  gazing 
at  him  with  tenderness,  one  hand  coming  up  on  to 
his  back,  the  long  fingers  of  the  other  delicately 
pressing  against  his  chest.  He  has  on  a one-piece 
garment,  with  low  sleeves  and  tiny  trousers,  both 
pulled  far  up,  showing  arms  and  legs  nearly  bare. 
His  whole  regard  is  given  to  the  six  fat  little 
cherubs  up  in  the  sky,  who  seem  to  be  singing  for 
his  special  enjoyment.  Behind  is  a landscape  with 
low-lying  hills  and  a curving,  twisting,  tree-bor- 
dered river. 

The  realism  of  the  chubby  babe,  with  his 


Sala  M Giovanni  Bellini 


85 


mouth  open  in  true  baby  style  while  he  intently 
watches  the  angelic  chorus,  and  the  depth  of  ten- 
derness in  the  Mother’s  face,  make  this  a very  lovely 
picture.  It  is  painted  in  tempera,  and  Mr.  Fry  says 
of  it  that  there  is  in  it  a “ conscious  attempt  at  a 
strange  effect  of  light,  this  time  of  early  dawn,  the 
pale  apricot  glow  in  the  sky  indicating  the  exact 
moment  when  the  white  of  the  Virgin’s  head-dress 
becomes  luminous,  though  the  flesh  is  still  in 
tone.” 

A similar  type  of  face  has  the  Madonna  with 
St.  George  and  St.  Paul.  There  is  the  same  slightly 
irregular  nose,  tip-tilted  a bit,  the  usual  finely 
drawn,  but  not  thin  eyebrow,  the  dimpled  chin,  and 
the  mouth  which  is  perhaps  a trifle  wide.  Here 
the  shadows  about  the  eyes  and  the  corners  of  the 
mouth  show  the  sadness  creeping  more  strongly 
upon  her.  Still  more  marked  is  her  resemblance 
to  the  Madonna  with  the  Two  Trees,  nearby.  Her 
position,  the  way  she  holds  the  baby,  and  her  gen- 
eral appearance  are  almost  identical  in  the  two> 
pictures. 

She  is  a half-length  figure,  standing  behind  a red 
marble  rampart,  upon  which  she  holds  upright  the 
Child.  Back  of  her  is  a red  drapery,  the  sky  show- 
ing beyond.  At  the  right  is  St.  George,  at  the  left, 
St.  Paul.  Both  are  slightly  behind  her,  her  own 
ample  robes  covering  more  than  half  of  their  fig- 


86  Zhc  Brt  of  tbe  tt)emce  Hcabemp 


ures.  St.  Paul  is  bearded  and  bald,  his  fine  lips 
close  set,  his  eyes  quiet,  turned  a little  to  his  left, 
his  right  hand  grasping  his  sword,  an  intentness 
that  is  wholly  without  nervousness  manifest  in  his 
whole  body.  St.  George,  turned  three-quarters  to 
the  left,  is  a tremendous  figure,  his  short  neck, 
clean-shaven  face,  and  mighty  chest  suggesting  the 
Arena  or  Wall  Street  rather  than  saintly  vocation. 
A critic  has  remarked  of  his  suit  of  armour  that 
it  has  a “ mysterious  quality  . . . which  is  very 
different  from  Alvise’s  straightforward  and  merely 
workmanlike  painting  of  a similar  motive  in  his 
Berlin  altar-piece.” 

There  is  a sense  of  pause,  of  waiting,  in  the  whole 
picture  that  is  hard  to  define,  but  can  be  clearly  felt. 
The  watchful  guard  of  the  two  saints,  the  lifted 
countenance  of  the  Madonna,  her  deep,  questioning, 
mournful  eyes,  all  suggest  a moment  of  tension,  as 
real  as  it  is  unobtrusive. 

The  Madonna  with  the  Two  Trees,  which  Crowe 
and  Cavalcaselle  assign  to  about  the  year  1487, 
according  to  Morelli  could  not  have  been  painted 
before  1504.  The  exquisite  atmospheric  feeling 
in  the  tonal  relations,  the  freedom  in  the  modelling, 
especially,  perhaps,  in  the  beautiful  little  body  of 
the  babe,  would  seem  tO'  be  evidence  supporting 
Morelli’s  contention. 

Before  a flat  drapery  of  light  green,  with  a nar- 


MADONNA  WITH  THE  TWO  TREES 
By  Giovanni  Bellini 


Sala  Giovanni  JBelUni 


87 


row  red  border,  is  the  half-length  figure  of  Mary, 
standing  behind  a wall,  of  which  only  the  very  top 
shows.  As  has  been  said,  her  position,  face,  figure, 
and  the  way  she  holds  the  Child  are  practically 
the  same  as  in  the  Madonna  with  St.  George  and 
St.  Paul.  The  pose  of  the  baby  is  also  almost 
identical,  except  that  here  his  head  is  turned  a little 
more  toward  his  left  shoulder  and  is  by  this  very 
placing  much  more  natural.  Except  for  pose,  how- 
ever, there  is  little  similarity  between  the  two 
babies.  With  this  one,  Bellini  shows  far  greater 
softness  of  texture,  freedom  of  modelling,  and 
looseness  of  handling,  besides  vastly  more  life  and 
vitality.  As  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  say,  “ Bellini 
certainly  never  so  completely  combined  relief  with 
transparence,  or  golden  tinge  of  flesh  with  a rich 
harmony  of  tints.” 

Not  less  notable  is  the  Mother,  whose  noble  dig- 
nity and  gracious  benignity  are  no  more  marked 
than  her  patient  resignation,  her  self-surrender. 
The  soft  crimson-toned  mantle,  with  its  edge  of 
golden  embroidery,  falls  over  her  head  and  arms 
and  shoulders,  exposing  a bit  of  the  white  veil 
across  the  forehead  and  at  the  neck.  Behind  the 
two',  on  each  side  of  the  green  curtain,  a landscape 
is  visible,  with  the  two  tall,  slender  trees,  that,  ris- 
ing to  the  height  of  the  Child,  give  their  name  to 
the  panel.  The  lighting  here  is  simple,  unforced, 


88  TEfoe  Brt  of  fbe  IDettice  Bcafcems 


answering  perfectly  the  needs  of  the  composition. 
The  draperies  are  equally  effective,  and  the  quiet 
repose  of  the  whole  picture  is  only  slightly  broken 
by  the  eager,  wide-eyed  gaze  of  the  little  Christ. 
Mary’s  eyes  are  lowered,  the  pupils  hardly  showing, 
and,  though  they  are  turned  downward  to  the  baby, 
she  seems  rather  to  be  looking  beyond  than  at  him. 

The  Madonna  with  St.  Catherine  and  Mary 
Magdalen,  like  so  many  of  the  other  Bellini  Ma- 
donnas, is  depicted  standing  behind  a wall  or  cop- 
ing, and  both  she  and  her  two  attendants  are  half- 
length  figures.  Her  right  arm  is  about  the  baby, 
who  is  seated  on  a white  cushion  on  the  wall,  his 
head  thrown  back  against  his  mother’s  shoulder, 
his  eyes  lifted  heavenward,  his  left  hand  out- 
stretched resting  on  her  left.  Mary  is  in  a violet- 
toned  robe,  a blue  mantle  coming  over  her  head, 
and  showing  her  white  veil  falling  on  to  her  fore- 
head. She  is  in  nearly  full-face,  her  eyes  turned 
to  the  left.  At  the  right  is  Mary  Magdalen,  in  a 
green  dress  and  red  mantle,  the  low  corsage  bor- 
dered with  rows  of  pearls.  Her  hands  are  crossed 
on  her  bosom,  her  golden  curls  covering  her  ears 
and  coming  over  her  shoulders.  At  the  left  is 
Catherine,  in  a yellow  robe  with  black  figures  and 
a brown  mantle,  strings  of  pearls  ornamenting  her 
dark  hair.  Her  hands  are  folded  before  her,  and 
she  is  gazing  with  adoration  at  the  baby  Jesus. 


MADONNA  WITH  ST.  CATHERINE  AND  MARY  MAGDALEN 
By  Giovanni  Bellini 


Sala  fct  Giovanni  Bellini 


89 


The  lighting  in  this  picture  is  as  if  Bellini  got 
his  effects  by  some  artificial  means.  The  brilliance 
of  the  colours,  the  warmth  of  the  flesh-tones,  the 
rather  strange  chiaroscuro,  are  all  admirably  ex- 
pressed, with  a surety  and  ease  of  handling  that, 
if  not  quite  so  free  as  in  the  Madonna  with  the 
Two  Trees,  indicates  at  l^ast  that  the  picture  was 
certainly  no  earlier  in  date  than  1448.  The  whole 
panel  glows  with  a warmth  and  richness  of  colour 
and  light  unequalled  before  Bellini's  day  and  per- 
haps never  surpassed  even  by  his  own  greatest 
pupils. 

In  discussing  this  work,  Mr.  Fry  says  that  the 
model  of  the  Madonna  was  evidently  the  same  as 
for  the  Frari  Bellini,  and  goes  on  to  add  that  “ the 
way  in  which  the  local  colours  are  all  modulated 
tO'  a single  key  of  rich  golden  brown  is  an  antici- 
pation of  Titian's  art  of  arousing  the  sensations  of 
colour  by  a varied  monochrome.  Here,  for  in- 
stance, SO'  perfectly  is  the-  key  kept  throughout,  that 
the  periwinkles  in  St.  Catherine’s  hair  appear  blue, 
though  the  actual  pigment  is  almost  brown  gray.” 

There  are  in  this  room  five  little  paintings  by 
Bellini  that  are  supposed  to  have  been  executed  for 
the  adornment  of  some  marriage  chest  or  other 
ornamental  coffer.  They  are  allegories,  the  sub- 
jects of  which  are  disputed  points.  Until  lately 
they  have  been  supposed  to  represent  Bacchus  and 


90  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  IDenice  Hcabem^ 


Mars,  Venus,  Fortune,  Truth,  and  Calumny.  The 
figures  are  about  eight  inches  high,  painted  ap- 
parently in  tempera  on  wood.  “ In  them,”  as  one 
critic  says,  “ can  be  seen  the  study  of  the  antiques 
treasured  in  the  museums  of  Venetian  palaces,” 
and  they  are  full  of  “ the  spirit  of  Titian’s  later 
bacchanals.”  It  is  now  thought  that  perhaps  they 
are  allegories  of  mediaeval  subjects.  Truth  has 
been  called  Prudence,  and  Venus  again,  Fortune. 

The  first  shows  Bacchus,  if  it  be  he,  in  a chariot 
drawn  by  three  nude  baby  sprites,  offering  a basket 
of  fruits  to  Mars,  if  it  be  he,  again,  who  is  walk- 
ing beside  him,  his  yellow  mantle  flying  in  the 
wind.  The  background  is  a landscape. 

Venus,  now  sometimes  called  Fortune,  is  shown 
in  profile,  sitting  in  a slender  boat  which  is  being 
forced  through  the  waves  by  some  unseen  power. 
She  is  dressed  in  a loose,  sleeveless  robe  of  white, 
and  she  helps  support  on  her  left  knee  a huge 
globe,  which  rests  also  on  the  shoulders  of  a little 
Love  standing  before  her.  Two  other  little  Cupids 
are  climbing  into  her  lap,  another  is  standing  blow- 
ing on  some  pipes  near  the  bow,  and  two  more  are 
frolicking  in  the  waves  beside  the  boat. 

Truth,  or  Prudence,  stands  in  an  arched  recess 
by  an  open  window.  She  is  entirely  nude,  and  is 
said  to  be  Bellini’s  only  nude  female  figure.  Turned 
three-quarters  to  the  left,  with  head  in  nearly  full 


Sala  M dMovannt  BelUni 


91 


face,  she  is  standing  on  a round,  drumlike  base, 
resting  on  a stone  foundation.  In  her  right  hand 
she  holds  a round  mirror,  to  which  she  is  point- 
ing with  her  left.  At  her  feet  two  little  Loves 
are  leaning  against  the  round  base,  one  playing  on 
a horn,  and  below  them,  at  the  right,  is  another, 
with  a wreath  on  his  head  and  a little  mantle  over 
his  shoulders,  playing  on  a drum. 

Fortune  is  a winged  figure,  the  upper  part  of  the 
body  a woman,  the  lower  a huge  bird  whose  feet 
rest  on  two  golden  balls.  In  each  hand  she  carries 
a slender  pitcher,  and  over  her  eyes  is  a yellow 
bandage.  Behind  her  is  a broad  reach  of  land- 
scape with  winding  stream,  houses,  and  hills. 

In  Calumny,  in  the  foreground,  are  two  men,  one 
standing  at  the  left,  mounted  on  a step,  and  leaning 
on  a staff,  the  other,  at  the  right,  holding  up  an 
enormous  shell.  From  the  end  of  this  a nude  man 
is  sprawling,  while  a serpent  twists  about  his  arms. 
The  landscape  background  has  a chateau  in  the 
distance. 

These  little  panels  are  painted  with  the  gaiety, 
the  lightness,  the  esprit  of  a great  man  at  play. 
Their  colour  is  charming  beyond  words,  with  a 
freshness  and  delicacy  that  add  to  their  fairylike 
quality.  The  handling,  of  miniature  fineness,  is  not 
at  all  tight  or  hard. 


CHAPTER  V. 


ROOM  XV. SALA  DI  GENTILE  BELLINI 

Gentile  Bellini,  all  of  whose  works  owned  by 
the  Academy  are  in  Room  15,  was  born  about  1426, 
and,  as  has  been  said,  was  a pupil  of  his  father 
Jacopo.  His  earliest  training  was  in  Padua,  where 
he  worked  with  his  father,  brother,  and  Mantegna, 
and  in  his  portrait  of  Doge  Lorenzo  Giustiniani, 
in  the  Academy,  can  be  seen  the  Paduan  rather 
than  the  Venetian  elements.  It  is  a good  deal 
ruined  by  time  and  the  restorer,  but  is  still  full  of 
dignity,  of  power,  almost  of  severity.  M.  Alex- 
andre says  that  one  sees  in  it  " la  superbe  froideur  ” 
of  the  school  of  Padua. 

Gentile’s  was  a different  art  from  that  of  his 
brother;  different,  indeed,  from  any  that  Venice, 
or  Italy  herself,  had  till  then  known.  It  was  an 
art  that  largely  confined  itself  to  the  external  as- 
pect of  things.  It  had  a realism,  and  showed  an 
observation  of  nature  and  surroundings  far  beyond 
that  of  any  other  of  the  school  of  Venice  up  to  his 

92 


IRoom  ftD.  — Sala  M Gentile  Bellini  93 


day.  He  had  not  the  sweetness,  nor  the  power,  nor, 
perhaps,  the  imagination  of  his  brother  Giovanni. 
He  had,  however,  a very  fine  feeling  for  values,  a 
sense  of  harmony  in  colour,  and,  for  the  day,  an 
unusual  and  extensive  knowledge  of  the  principles 
of  perspective.  He  combined  groups  and  handled 
crowds  upon  his  panels  with  both  ease  and  distinc- 
tion. He  is  especially  known  for  his  pictures  of 
pageants,  and  if  he  does  not  achieve  the  glow  and 
brilliance,  the  movement  and  colour,  the  grouping 
and  composition,  of  that  later,  greater  painter  of 
Venetian  feast  and  pageant,  Veronese,  it  is  rather 
because  of  the  limitations  necessitated  by  the  time 
in  which  he  lived  than  by  his  own  inherent  abilities. 
He  was  sober,  self-contained,  and  dignified,  and  his 
pictures,  so  far  as  the  ravages  of  time  and  the  re- 
storer can  permit  one  to  judge,  show  a delicate  just- 
ness in  tone  combination  and  tone  juxtaposition 
that  speak  as  well  for  his  sanity  as  for  his  colour 
sense. 

From  contemporary  records  it  is  evident  that 
Gentile  was  highly  esteemed  in  his  own  day.  It 
was  he  who  was  sent  as  representative  painter  when 
the  Sultan  of  Turkey  begged  for  the  loan  of  one 
of  the  best  artists  of  Venice.  His  stay  of  a year 
or  so  under  the  orders  of  Mehemet  gave  him  a 
chance  to  study  the  Oriental  in  his  own  surround- 
ings, and,  after  his  return  home,  he  often  intro- 


94  Ufoe  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcabern^ 


duced  Oriental  costumes  into  his  pictures  of  con- 
temporary life. 

The  three  great  scenes  in  this  room,  illustrating 
legends  of  the  relic  of  the  True  Cross,  were  painted 
for  the  Scuola  di  S.  Giovanni  Evangelista.  The 
two  least  injured  by  washing  and  repainting  are 
the  Procession  in  the  Piazza  of  San  Marco  and  the 
Miracle  of  the  Holy  Cross,  in  which  the  shrine  of 
the  relic  is  saved  from  the  waves  by  a priest  of  the 
order. 

The  first  gives  an  exact  representation  of  the 
Piazza  di  S.  Marco'  as  it  was  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury. San  Marco,  the  base  of  the  Campanile,  and 
the  Doge’s  Palace,  the  Colonnade,  all  the  exquisite 
detail  of  sculptured  marble  and  ornament,  the  beau- 
tiful mosaics  over  the  portals  of  the  church,  just 
as  they  were  before  the  alterations  of  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  century,  are  all  portrayed 
with  a scrupulous  fidelity  which  makes  the  scene 
valuable  as  an  historical  document,  if  for  nothing 
else.  Not  less  carefully  has  Gentile  depicted  the 
crowds  that  number  into  the  hundreds,  and  yet 
little  more  than  make  a border  for  the  great  square. 
The  costumes,  the  head-dresses,  the  postures  of 
these  many  individuals,  are  as  exactly  accurate  as 
if  each  were  a portrait,  and  the  pose,  gesture,  and 
movement  of  all  are  almost  as  natural  as  if  a 
kodak  had  snapped  the  scene.  Almost,  only,  be- 


IRoom  — Sala  bl  Gentile  Bellini  95 


cause  some  of  the  figures  are  too'  short  and  dumpy 
and  show,  in  a certain  crudeness  of  construction, 
the  primitive  school  from  which  Gentile  sprung. 

Across  the  front  of  the  picture  is  the  long  line 
of  white-robed  priests  guarding  the  canopy  under 
which  is  carried  the  sacred  relic.  The  procession 
has  started  from  the  archway  between  S.  Marco 
and  the  Ducal  Palace,  and  the  end  of  it  is  still  seen 
emerging  from  there.  It  then  winds  up  the  piazza 
by  the  Campanile  and  the  houses  that  were  then 
next  it,  turns  to  the  left,  across  the  square,  down 
into  the  other  side.  The  thronging  populace  makes 
a solid  bank,  in  front  of  which  the  procession 
marches,  and  in  the  many  faces  watching  the  train 
Gentile  has  shown  that  he  was  well  worthy  of  the 
fame  accorded  him  as  portrait-painter.  Farther 
back  in  the  Piazza  are  many  others,  priests,  beg- 
gars, gay  gallants,  prince  and  princess,  and  ladies 
in  waiting,  all  in  the  rich  Venetian  robes  of  the 
period,  all  in  positions  as  diverse  as  natural.  Here 
and  there  are  traces  of  archaism,  but,  although 
one  may  not  fully  agree,  -one  can  understand  why 
Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  should  have  said  of  the 
picture,  “ There  is  no  doubt  that  this  is  the  most 
important  extant  work  of  the  Venetian  school  pre- 
vious to  the  advent  of  Titian.” 

Scarcely  less  remarkable,  though  in  parts  more 
primitive,  is  the  other,  the  Miracle  of  the  Holy 


96  Zbc  Brt  of  tbe  Denice  Bcabem^ 


Cross.  Here  again  are  the  crowds  of  people,  this 
time  with  more  women  among  them.  Here  are 
the  marble  houses,  with  perspective  and  architec- 
ture both  so  true  and  realistic.  Again  it  is  a Pro- 
cession of  the  Holy  Cross,  now  crossing  the  little 
three-arched  bridge  over  one  of  the  smaller  canals. 
The  bridge  occupies  the  middle  distance,  and  makes 
a curved  horizontal  line  across  the  composition. 
The  narrow  street  at  the  base  of  the  houses  on  the 
left,  next  to  the  canal,  as  well  as  the  bridge  itself, 
is  packed  with  men,  women,  and  children.  All 
are  gazing  at  the  water.  The  holy  relic  has 
dropped  into  the  waves,  and  while  gondolas  have 
been  put  off  to  search  for  it,  others  among  the 
faithful  have  cast  themselves  bodily  into  the  water 
to  capture  it.  According  to  the  tradition,  however, 
the  Holy  Cross  would  allow  no  one  to'  touch  it 
except  Vendramin,  the  head  of  the  Order.  And 
in  the  middle  of  the  picture,  almost  in  the  imme- 
diate foreground,  is  the  priest,  apparently  walking 
through  the  water,  holding  the  relic  above  his  head. 
There  is  something  of  the  grotesque  in  this  float- 
ing figure,  but  nevertheless  the  really  great  attri- 
butes of  Gentile’s  art  can  be  seen  here  also. 

Another  Miracle  of  the  Cross,  in  the  same  room, 
has  been  so  changed  from  its  original  condition, 
both  by  age  and  by  the  vandal  called  restorer,  that 


MIRACLE  OF  THE  HOLY  CROSS 


IRooin  fit)*  — Saia  M Gentile  Bellini  97 


there  is  practically  nothing  left  to  show  what  it 
once  was. 

There  are  other  pictures  here  illustrating  other 
legends  of  the  relic  of  the  True  Cross,  by  Mansueti 
and  Bastiano,  but,  though  of  later  date  than  those 
by  Gentile,  they  are  more  archaic  in  treatment  and 
far  less  interesting  in  conception. 

Giovanni  Mansueti  was  born  near  1450,  and  he, 
as  well  as  Bastiano,  was  called  by  the  Brotherhood 
of  S.  Giovanni  Evangelista  to  decorate  their  Scuola. 
He  was  an  imitator  of  Gentile  Bellini,  and  he  also 
recalls  Carpaccio,  though  in  neither  case  does  he 
ever  approach  his  example.  He  did  not  draw  very 
well,  his  figures  were  short  and  awkward,  and  he 
never  expressed  the  variety  of  action  and  movement 
so  characteristic  of  Gentile.  Partly  from  his  great 
fondness  for  introducing  Oriental  costumes  into 
his  compositions,  it  is  supposed  that  he  may  have 
gone  with  Gentile  to  Constantinople.  In  one  of  the 
pictures  in  the  Academy  he  signs  himself  a pupil 
of  Giovanni  Bellini.  His  colour  was  generally  dry 
and  hard,  with  little  of  the  brilliance  of  Carpaccio. 

According  to  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle,  his  most 
masterly  composition  is  one  of  the  episodes  in  the 
Life  of  St.  Mark,  which  is  in  that  part  of  Room 
15  once  the  apse  of  the  old  Gothic  church.  This 
was  in  the  School  of  St.  Mark,  and  shows  the  people 
of  Alexandria  listening  to  the  Disciple  preaching 


98  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcabetns 


in  a temple.  The  same  critics  quoted  above  say 
that  “ there  is  no  picture,  not  excepting  the  Bap- 
tism of  Anianus  in  the  Brera,  in  which  Mansueti 
more  nearly  approaches  Carpaccio.”  It  represents 
a square,  or  place  in  Alexandria,  surrounded  by 
houses  with  balconies.  A crowd  of  Venetians  and 
Orientals  are  about,  some  on  foot,  some  on  horse- 
back. At  the  left,  in  the  middle  distance,  St.  Mark 
is  seen  in  prison,  visited  by  Christ,  accompanied  by 
an  angel.  The  other  incident,  which  gives  its  name 
to  the  picture,  is  also  in  the  middle  distance,  and 
shows  a temple  where  St.  Mark  is  preaching  to  the 
people  crowding  about.  This  is,  perhaps,  the  best 
bit  of  the  whole.  At  the  right,  upon  a throne,  is  an 
Oriental  magistrate. 

These  diverse  incidents,  disconnected  as  they  are 
in  time  and  place  of  happening,  have  a certain  co- 
herency in  arrangement  that  makes  them  seem  not 
entirely  unrelated  parts  of  a fairly  well-balanced 
composition. 

St.  Mark  Healing  Anianus,  also  in  the  apse,  has 
been  greatly  hurt  by  restoration.  The  scene  is  sup- 
posed tO'  take  place  in  Alexandria  again.  Anianus, 
a cobbler,  who  has  wounded  himself  with  an  awl, 
is  sitting  in  the  centre  of  the  market-place,  and  by 
him,  holding  his  wounded  hand,  stands  St.  Mark, 
dressed  in  a tunic  and  cloak  of  blue.  On  the  knees 
of  Anianus  are  the  shoes  he  was  working  upon. 


IRoom  fliL-Sala  M Gentile  Bel  lint  99 


Around  are  a number  of  assistants  and  spectators 
in  turbans  and  Oriental  costumes;  at  the  left  are 
two  knights,  and  next  to  a reclining  camel  a mer- 
chant and  two  customers.  In  the  background  is 
a two-storied  building,  and  on  the  stairways  a num- 
ber of  people  listening  or  looking  on.  On  the  first 
floor  of  this  building,  in  a large  hall  with  columns 
are  an  official  and  his  court,  and  the  second-story 
balconies  are  crowded  with  spectators.  This,  like 
the  other,  was  painted  for  the  Scuola  of  S.  Marco. 

Near  this  is  the  Healing  of  the  Daughter  of 
Benvenuto,  which  has  been  wrongly  attributed  to 
Lazzaro.  It  shows  the  entrance  and  approach  to  a 
beautiful  Venetian  palace,  as  well  as  the  interior 
of  one  of  its  large  rooms.  This  double  view  is 
obtained  by  omitting  the  front  wall  of  the  house. 
Below,  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  which  lead  to  the 
second  story,  is  a crowd  of  Venetians,  and  drawn 
up  to  the  curbing  a couple  of  gondolas.  The  stair- 
way, too,  is  lined  with  people,  and  in  the  room 
above  are  her  mother  and  father  holding  candles 
and  other  watchers  about  the  bed  of  the  blind  girl. 
The  legend  is  that  the  daughter  of  Niccolo  Ben- 
venuto da  San  Paolo  was  blind,  having  no  pupils 
to  her  eyes,  and  that  she  was  healed  by  a blessed 
candle  which  had  been  burned  before  a relic  of 
the  True  Cross. 

His  perspective  here  is  remarkably  good,  and 


ioo  Ube  Ert  ot  tbe  IDentce  Bcafcemp 


the  architectural  surroundings  are  executed  with 
a correctness  and  nicety  of  finish  hardly  excelled 
by  Gentile  Bellini  himself.  The  attitudes  and 
movements  of  the  figures,  also,  are  simply  and 
truthfully  indicated. 

The  Burial  of  an  Unbeliever  illustrates  the 
legend  which  relates  that  a member  of  the  Brother- 
hood of  S.  Giovanni  Evangelista  expressed  doubts 
during  his  life  of  the  marvellous  powers  of  the 
relic  of  the  True  Cross.  When  he  himself  was 
dead,  and  the  funeral  cortege  with  the  cross  started 
on  its  way,  the  whole  procession  was  stopped  at 
the  church  door  by  some  invisible  but  unconquer- 
able power,  which  prevented  any  further  progress. 
Not  till  another  cross  was  brought  and  the  relic 
carried  back  to  its  own  altar  could  the  procession 
move  forward. 

The  picture  shows  the  funeral  train  crossing  a 
wooden  bridge  over  the  little  canal  leading  to  the 
piazza  in  front  of  the  church.  At  the  open  door 
of  the  sanctuary  at  the  right,  the  procession,  with 
its  priests  and  mourners,  was  halted.  In  front, 
crowds  of  Venetians  kneel  or  stand  gazing.  On 
the  bridge,  at  the  extreme  left  end,  a young  man 
stands  bareheaded,  with  a scroll  in  his  hand,  on 
which  is  written,  “ O’pus  Joannis  D.  Masuetis, 
Veneti,  Rute  Sententium,  Bellini  Discip.”  The 
figure  is  supposed  to  represent  Mansueti,  and  he 


IRoom  fit).  — Sala  t>t  ©entile  Bellini 


IOI 


thus  avows  himself  both  a pupil  of  Bellini  and  a 
firm  believer  in  the  truth  of  the  story  he  is  depict- 
ing. 

Lazzaro  di  Sebastiano,  a fellow  worker  with 
Mansueti  in  the  Scuola  di  S.  Giovanni  Evangelista, 
was  born  near  1450,  and  died  probably  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  1508.  Padua  is  generally  re- 
garded as  his  birthplace,  and  it  has  been  supposed 
that  he  was  a pupil  of  Carpaccio.  It  is  more  likely 
that  he  worked  with  Alvise  Vivarini,  and  also  with 
Giovanni  Bellini.  He  never  showed  much  original- 
ity or  strength,  but  he  was  well  known,  and  had 
an  honourable  position  in  Venice,  where  he  was 
a member  of  the  College  of  S.  Girolamo.  It  has 
been  said  of  him  that  he  was  always  “ vulgar  and 
realistic  and  of  a melancholy  dryness  in  colour/’ 
but  that  he  gave  to  his  figures,  “ after  falling  under 
the  influence  of  Venice,  something  more  nearly  al- 
lied to  delicacy  and  slenderness,  and  he  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  the  changes  introduced  by  the  ap- 
plication of  oil  mediums.” 

One  of  his  best  works  is  the  Gift  of  the  True 
Cross,  in  Room  15,  in  which  he  is  shown  as  an 
imitator  of  Gentile  Bellini. 

In  the  background  is  the  porch  of  the  church  S. 
Giovanni  Evangelista.  In  front  of  this,  Philip  of 
Massari  kneels,  presenting  to  priests  of  the  Order 
the  holy  relic.  Under  the  portico  three  monks  are 


io2  uhc  Brt  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabems 


kneeling,  back  to,  clad  in  richest  ecclesiastical  trap- 
pings. From  right  and  left  come  the  brothers, 
bearing  lighted  tapers.  In  the  foreground  in  the 
square  are  a number  of  assistants,  and  right  and 
left,  again,  upon  the  steps,  Venetian  patricians.  The 
portico  is  surmounted  by  a terrace,  on  which  are 
seen  many  assistants,  and  which  leads,  at  the  left 
toward  a church,  at  the  right  toward  a house,  on 
the  balcony  of  which  a woman  is  standing.  In  this 
picture  the  influence,  not  alone  of  Gentile,  but  also 
of  Carpaccio  and  even  of  Mansueti,  is  evident. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


ROOM  XVI.  — SALA  DEL  CARPACCIO 

Vittore  Carpaccio,  whose  St.  Ursula  pictures 
entirely  fill  this  octagonal  room  once  a part  of  the 
Church  of  the  Carita,  is  a subject  of  considerable 
controversy  to  the  critics.  It  is  not  known  ex- 
actly when  or  where  he  was  born,  nor  is  the  date 
of  his  death  definitely  settled.  The  probabilities, 
however,  seem  to  be  that,  though  calling  himself 
a Venetian,  he  was  actually  born  at  Capo  dTstria, 
somewhere  about  1450.  The  earliest  known  work 
by  him  is  dated  1490,  and  his  latest,  according  to 
Molmenti,  1521.  Gentile  Bellini  was  his  master, 
though  he  seems  also  to  ’have  been  influenced  by 
Alvise  Vivarini.  His  first  works  are  in  tempera, 
but  he  abandoned  that  medium  to  adopt  the  more 
easily  managed  oil.  It  has  been  conjectured  that 
he  went  with  Gentile  on  his  trip  to  Constantinople, 
but  this  has  not  been  proved ; the  fondness  he  shows 
for  Oriental  costumes  could  have  easily  originated 
in  Venice,  where  were  met  the  nations  of  the  earth. 

Carpaccio  unites  in  his  works  some  of  the  attri- 
103 


io4  Zbc  Ert  of  tbe  IDenlce  Hcabem$ 


butes  of  Gentile  and  Giovanni  Bellini,  of  Alvise 
Vivarini,  at  the  same  time  keeping  much  that  re- 
calls the  Primitives.  But  he  is  not  merely  a com- 
posite of  all  these  tendencies.  Pie  has  a distinct 
personality  of  his  own  that  effectually  differentiates 
him  from  all  others  of  his  contemporaries.  All 
critics  have  granted  Carpaccio  preeminence  as  a 
story-teller.  Though  his  fetes  and  pageants  may 
recall  Gentile  Bellini  in  conception,  Carpaccio’s 
treatment  of  these  typically  Venetian  subjects 
makes  them  all  his  own.  There  is  a lightness  of 
fancy,  a brightness  of  view,  a serenity  of  regard, 
a frank  joyousness  about  all  his  work  very  unlike 
the  sober  dignity  and  simple  poise  of  Gentile’s  pro- 
cessions. 

Gentile  Bellini,  Carpaccio,  Veronese,  — these 
three  painters  filled  their  canvases  with  Venice, 
Venice  en  fete . Carpaccio  has  not  the  splendour, 
the  magnificence,  the  gorgeousness  of  Veronese, 
any  more  than  he  possesses  the  sedateness  and  im- 
pressiveness of  Gentile.  But  he  has  what  neither 
of  these  men  had  so  fully,  if  at  all.  There  is  ab- 
solute sincerity  in  all  his  work,  though  the  playful, 
the  gay,  is  seldom  lacking.  He  is  not  so  good  a 
draughtsman  as  Gentile,  he  has  not  the  depth  of 
tenderness  or  profound  piety  of  Giovanni.  But  he 
has,  nevertheless,  a joyful  sanity,  a strong  sense  of 
the  picturesque,  and  always  and  everywhere  the 


IRoorn  flDIL  — Sala  Del  Carpaccio  105 


love  for  incident,  for  action,  for  life,  especially  and 
ever  for  Venetian  life.  In  his  compositions  live 
again  the  streets,  the  costumes,  the  customs  of  the 
days  and  nights  of  the  City  of  the  Lagune  in  the 
late  fifteenth  and  early  sixteenth  centuries.  What- 
ever story  Carpaccio  tells,  it  is  always  Venice  that 
is  his  background,  — Venice  the  beautiful,  the 
youthful,  the  Venice  of  intense  life,  of  care-free 
days.  If  in  Gianbellini  is  first  felt  the  wealth,  the 
glow,  the  depth  of  colour  that  was  to  be  the  pre- 
dominant characteristic  of  this  North  Italian  school, 
Carpaccio  was  no  mere  follower.  His  brush  has  a 
golden  limpidity  of  tone,  a sweetness  and  mellow- 
ness that  were  his  alone,  and  that  are  as  distinctive 
of  his  art  as  is  his  love  of  pageant  and  running 
story. 

These  Ursula  pictures  are  the  first  works  which 
are  credited  to  him.  They  were  painted  for  the 
Scuola  di  Sant’  Ursula,  between  1490  and  1495. 
This  Scuola  was  a benevolent  institution  in  Venice 
for  the  support  and  education  of  orphaned  girls. 

St.  Ursula,  according  to  the  story,  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  a certain  King  of  Brittany,  Theonatus  in 
English,  Mauro  in  the  Italian  version.  Ursula  was 
a most  devout  maiden,  and  had  refused  all  the 
many  suitors  for  her  hand,  determined  to  live  a 
life  wholly  consecrated  to  the  Church.  When 
Agrippinus  of  England  asked  her  hand  in  mar- 


jo 6 Zhc  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcabem# 


riage  for  his  son  Conon,  King  Mauro  wished  her 
to  accept.  Ursula  agreed  on  three  conditions: 
first,  that  Agrippinus  should  give  her  eleven  thou- 
sand maidens  of  noble  birth  for  attendants;  next, 
that  for  three  years  they  should  accompany  her  on 
a pilgrimage  to  Rome  to  visit  the  shrines;  and, 
lastly,  that  Prince  Conon  and  all  his  suite  should 
turn  Christian.  These  terms  were  accepted,  and 
Conon  set  out  at  once  to  make  her  a visit  before 
she  began  her  pilgrimage.  At  length  Ursula  and 
her  maidens  were  welcomed  at  Rome  by  Pope 
Cyriacus,  and  joined  there  by  Prince  Conon  and 
his  suite,  who  came  by  a different  way.  Here 
Ursula  tells  him  that  she  has  dreamed  that  she 
and  her  maidens  will  all  be  martyred  at  Cologne, 
a city  they  would  pass  through  on  their  return 
home.  The  prince  at  that  resigned  all  hope  of 
marrying,  and  was  baptized  by  the  Pope,  receiving 
the  name  of  Ethereus,  indicative  of  his  purity  of 
heart  and  purpose.  With  their  arrival  at  Cologne 
came  the  fulfilment  of  the  princess’s  dream.  They 
were  surrounded  by  the  Huns,  then  besieging  the 
city,  and  all  were  put  to  death.  Conon  died  at  his 
betrothed’s  feet,  and  she  and  her  companions  were 
killed  by  the  arrows  of  the  heathen.  Then  the 
spirits  of  all  the  party  ascended  into  heaven.  This 
is  the  legend  that  not  only  Carpaccio  but  earlier 
painters  chose  as  subject  for  their  brush.  Hans 


IRoom  flDIL  — Sala  fcel  Carpaccio  107 


Memlinc,  in  Bruges,  had  already  painted  the 
Shrine  of  St.  Ursula,  and  Carpaccio’s  work  bears 
a near  relationship  with  Memlinc’s  conception  of 
the  story.  Carpaccio,  indeed,  has,  to  many  critics, 
suggested  the  Flemish  painter  in  his  works. 

The  series  has  been  universally  regarded  as  al- 
together the  greatest  work  of  Carpaccio’s  brush. 
As  colour  effects  they  are  restrained,  quiet,  almost 
monochromatic  in  their  golden  brown  tones,  with 
little  of  the  glow  and  scintillation  usually  associated 
with  the  Venetian  colour,  or  with  some  of  Car- 
paccio’s own  altar-pieces.  But  there  is  a gaiety,  a 
charm  to  the  colour,  a frank  revelling  in  the  bright 
costumes,  the  brilliant  surroundings,  that,  while 
not  detracting  from  the  real  earnestness  of  the 
scenes,  give  a fairylike  sparkle  to  them  all.  The 
figures  themselves  are  not  remarkably  well  drawn. 
As  recent  critics  have  remarked,  they  are  often 
“ spindle-shanked,  short-bodied,  and  sometimes 
cloven  almost  to  the  waist  by  their  long  legs ; their 
faces  are  frequently  homely,  others  of  them  are 
lacking  in  construction,  but  the  charm  of  his  work 
makes  up  for  all,  while  the  lightness  of  treatment 
of  sacred  legend  is  qualified  and  ennobled  by  some 
of  the  clearest  and  most  golden  colour  to  be  found 
in  the  whole  range  of  art.” 

The  series,  described  in  order  of  occurrence  of 
scene  rather  than  by  the  placing  on  the  walls,  be- 


io8  ufoe  Hrt  of  tbe  IDentce  Hcabem$ 


gins  with  the  one  showing  the  Ambassadors  of  the 
English  King  Asking  the  Hand  of  Mauro’s  Daugh- 
ter and  the  Conference  between  King  Mauro  and 
Ursula.  Such  combining  of  distinct  and  time- 
separated  incidents,  depicted  with  no  separation 
except  the  columns  of  a loggia  and  the  open  wall 
of  a room,  ought,  by  all  the  laws  of  composition, 
to  be  a failure.  Actually,  it  is  not  only  one  of  the 
best  of  the  nine,  but  is  excellent  in  spacing,  in  mass- 
ing, in  climax.  None  better  than  Carpaccio  knew 
how  to  subordinate  detail,  and  bring  the  ends  of  his 
pictures  together  into  one  composite,  coherent 
whole.  The  introduction  of  varying  and  numbers 
of  incidents  does  not,  with  Carpaccio,  make  a dis- 
jointed, episodic  composition. 

The  picture  is  a long  panel,  nine  feet  high  by 
nineteen  long,  not  quite  three  times  as  wide  as  it 
is  high.  The  central  part  is  occupied  by  Mauro’s 
open  audience-hall,  a hall  with  ceiling  and  one  solid 
frescoed  wall,  against  which,  on  a platform,  is 
seated  the  king  and  his  court.  Before  him  kneel 
the  ambassadors,  the  first  presenting  the  letter  of 
King  Agrippinus.  His  robe  of  rich  gold  brocade, 
with  its  embroidered  flowers  of  black,  catches  the 
light  on  the  shoulder  and  arm,  while  his  companion, 
on  the  lower  step,  is  more  completely  in  the  light. 
The  distribution  of  light  in  this  whole  panel,  the 
spotting  of  the  figures  against  the  higher-keyed 


THE  AMBASSADORS  OF  THE  ENGLISH  KING  ASKING  THE  HAND  OF  MAURO’S  DAUGHTER 

By  Carpaccio 


IRoom  £D1L  — Sala  t>el  Carpaccio  109 


background  and  the  slightly  more  sombre  end  di- 
visions, are  all  means  Carpaccio  takes  to  make  a 
well-balanced  composition  despite  the  varying  inci- 
dents depicted. 

Leaning  on  the  slender  railing,  which  fences  off 
this  open  reception  hall  from  the  piazza  behind, 
are  a number  of  citizens'  watching  the  ceremony 
within.  Beyond  them,  the  open,  sunlit  square  is 
dotted  with  people  in  fifteenth-century  Venetian 
costumes.  An  octagonal  Basilica,  other  buildings, 
and  glimpses  of  a garden  behind,  a wall  bordering 
a canal  with  ships  at  anchor,  make  a truly  Venetian 
setting  for  this  home  of  the  King  of  Brittany.  A 
loggia  opens  into1  the  audience-hall  at  the  left,  and 
through  its  arches,  separated  by  marble  pillars, 
gleams  the  sea  itself.  Here,  within  the  railing 
again,  are  numbers  of  attendants  and  courtiers, 
and  at  the  extreme  left,  outside,  standing  at  the 
corner,  is  another  subject  of  Brittany  in  cap  and 
gown.  He  makes  an  effective  foil  for  the  woman 
at  the  other  end  of  the  panel,  who  is  sitting  on  the 
lower  step  of  the  short  flight  leading  to  the  room 
where  Maura  and  his  daughter  are  conversing. 
This  room  has  its  outer  wall  completely  removed, 
a customary  way  with  both  Gentile  Bellini  and  Car- 
paccio to  introduce  the  spectator  into  the  interior 
of  a house.  At  the  left  of  a very  bare  little  room 
the  king  sits  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand,  while 


no 


TTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Denice  Bcabem£ 


Ursula  stands  before  him  counting  off  on  her  fin- 
gers the  conditions  upon  which  she  will  accept 
Conon.  This  end  of  the  panel  is  considered  the 
least  satisfactory  of  the  three  divisions. 

The  next  panel  shows  King  Mauro  Bidding  Fare- 
well to  the  Ambassadors.  He  is  sitting  at  the  left, 
on  a throne  raised  several  steps  above  the  floor 
in  a handsomely  frescoed  hall  which  opens  at  the 
right  through  big  doors  into  another.  This  second 
apartment  has  a finely  proportioned  winding  stair- 
way, over  which  people  are  passing.  Before  Mauro 
kneels  one  of  the  ambassadors,  and  lower  down  is 
another.  Back  of  these  a secretary  is  writing  at 
a table,  with  an  officer  standing  near.  At  the  right, 
two  pages  and  assistants  stand  next  an  open  door. 
Numbers  of  these  are  leaning  against  the  balus- 
trade of  a wooden  stairway.  In  the  distance  gleams 
a canal  bordered  with  houses.  Here  again  the  ef- 
fect produced  by  the  lighting  of  the  picture  reminds 
one  of  Pieter  de  Hooch. 

The  third  panel  is  the  Ambassadors’  Return  with 
the  Reply  of  King  Mauro.  This  is  a picture  of  a 
square  or  piazza  fronting  on  a canal,  all  very 
Venetian,  though  supposed  to  represent  England! 
The  people  are  scattered  loosely  about  the  scene, 
and  are  of  really  secondary  importance.  At  the 
right,  in  an  octagonal  pavilion  with  marble  pillars 
supporting  the  roof,  is  the  king,  who,  by  the  way, 


•Room  f IDf . — Sala  Pel  Carpaccio 


III 


is  far  from  prepossessing  in  countenance.  He  is 
surrounded  by  his  courtiers,  and  before  him  kneels 
one  of  the  returned  ambassadors.  Farther  back, 
extending  almost  to  the  middle  of  the  composition, 
is  a crowd  of  people  listening  to  the  news.  Still 
more  people  crowd  the  bridge  and  other  side  of  the 
canal.  In  the  foreground  at  the  left  a richly  dressed 
noble,  presumably  one  of  the  other  ambassadors,  is 
hastening  forward,  as  if  already  late.  Standing 
directly  in  his  way  are  two  young  nobles,  one,  back 
to1,  magnificently  clothed  in  brocaded  robes  which 
the  sunlight  throws  into  high  relief.  He  has  golden 
curls,  and  in  his  youthful  bearing  gives  credence 
to  Ruskin’s  theory  that  he  is  Conon  himself,  inter- 
rupting the  ambassadors  in  his  eagerness  to>  hear 
Ursula’s  answer. 

Some  of  the  amusing  incidents  that  Carpaccio 
always  loves  to  introduce  are  here  in  full  effect. 
On  the  steps  of  the  pavilion  a monkey,  dressed  in 
the  costume  of  a Venetian  senator,  is  gravely  ey- 
ing a peahen;  and  at  the  extreme  left,  behind  a 
man  sitting  on  a stool,  is  a comically  arrayed  boy 
playing  on  a viol.  The  ships  drawn  up  to  the 
wharf,  the  floating  banners,  the  distant  architecture, 
as  well  as  the  beautiful  marble  structures  in  the 
middle  distance,  and  especially  the  effect  of  the 
sunlight  which  flashes  over  the  scene,  show  both 
Carpaccio’s  joyous  humour  and  his  love  of  his 


1 12  zrbe  Hrt  ot  tbe  Dentce  Bcafcems 


own  city.  It  is  a lively,  naturalistic  composition, 
and  the  linear  perspective,  as  in  the  whole  series,  is 
wonderfully  perfect. 

In  the  fourth  panel  there  are  once  more  a number 
of  incidents.  A tall  flagstaff  divides  the  panel 
into  two'  parts.  At  the  left  rise  the  castle-crowned 
heights  of  the  English  king,  sloping  down  to  the 
sea.  At  the  right  are  the  palace  and  quays  of  Brit- 
tany. The  right  side  is  really  a view  of  Venice,  the 
left,  with  its  clumsy  towers  and  fortifications,  evi- 
dently supposed  to  represent  more  nearly  what  the 
capital  of  a heathen  king  might  be.  Separating  the 
two  ports  is  the  sea,  making  thus  practically  one 
harbour,  with  an  outline  against  the  horizon  in  the 
centre,  where  huge  ships  are  plying  back  and  forth. 
Across  the  foreground  of  the  picture  runs  an  em- 
bankment, or  wharf,  and  on  this,  as  if  on  a stage, 
are  displayed  the  personages  of  the  story.  At  the 
left,  before  a crowd  of  people,  Agrippinus  is  lean- 
ing forward,  saying  good-bye  to  his  son,  who-  kneels 
before  him,  several  of  his  attendants  standing  near. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  flagstaff  Conon  is  again 
shown,  just  landed,  and  hurrying  forward  with  out- 
stretched hands  to  greet  Ursula,  who,  with  only 
one  attendant,  is  there  to  meet  him.  Directly  at 
the  right  of  this  waiting-woman  the  betrothed  ones 
are  again  depicted,  kneeling  before  Mauro  and  his 
queen,  who  stands  with  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 


tRoom  fIDIK  — Sala  fcel  Carpaccio  113 


Mauro  has  his  left  hand  on  Ursula’s  shoulder  and 
is  clasping  her  right  hand  fast  within  his.  The 
young  prince  kneels  upright,  his  golden  curls  falling 
on  to  his  shoulder,  while  Ursula’s  long,  straight 
hair  floats  down  almost  to  her  knees. 

The  pathos  and  a real  intensity  of  expression 
here  have  captivated  everybody.  Many  critics  have 
gone  into  ecstasies,  also,  over  the  beautiful  faces  of 
Ursula  and  her  betrothed.  But,  as  the  recent  edi- 
tors of  Vasari  critically  remark,  the  faces  are,  “ in 
reality,  the  profiles  of  charming  paper  dolls.  If  we 
compare  them  with  the  homely  features  of  the  am- 
bassadors to  King  Mauro,  or  of  the  councillors  who 
sit  in  a row,  we  shall  see  that  the  heads  of  prince 
and  saint  alike,  graceful  as  they  are,  lack  any  con- 
struction, and  are  abnormal,  or  very  nearly  so,  as 
to  cranial  development.”  Nevertheless,  this  episode 
is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  genuinely  appealing  in 
the  whole  series,  and,  in  spite  of  the  deficient  cranial 
construction  and  modelling,  the  group  of  father, 
mother,  prince,  and  princess  affects  one  like  a 
tender  tale  from  some  old  missal,  — quaint,  archaic 
even,  yet  permeated  with  a spirit  of  the  eternal 
verities,  striking  true  to  the  heart  of  humanity. 

Number  five  is  the  Meeting  of  Pope  Cyriacus  and 
Ursula  outside  the  walls  of  S.  Angelo  at  Rome. 
The  Pope,  with  a vast  concourse  of  cardinals  and 
prelates,  whose  line  extends  far  back  to  the  castle, 


1 14  Uhc  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bca&emp 


stands  in  the  centre  of  the  foreground  blessing 
Ursula,  who,  with  three  of  her  maidens,  kneels 
before  him.  Back  of  these,  in  a long,  sweeping 
curve  of  three  or  more  abreast,  come  all  the  rest  of 
her  maidens.  A company  of  youths,  among  whom, 
presumably,  is  Conon,  is  in  the  centre  of  the  pic- 
ture, directly  behind  the  cardinals  about  the  Pope. 
They  carry  tall,  waving  banners,  which  break 
against  the  sky  in  slender,  sharp-edged  masses.  In 
none  of  the  series,  except,  perhaps,  the  Dream,  does 
Ursula’s  charming  girlhood  show  to  more  advan- 
tage. The  simplicity  of  her  bearing,  the  deep  piety 
expressed  in  her  position  and  lifted  face,  all  con- 
trast effectively  with  the  pomp  of  the  Church,  as 
represented  in  the  richly  robed  prelates.  And,  al- 
though the  story  the  picture  tells  would  tax  credu- 
lity to  the  utmost,  the  telling  is  so  straightforward, 
so  unadorned,  that  one  believes  it  as,  at  ten,  one 
believes  Hans  Andersen. 

The  proper  sequence  brings  next  Ursula’s  Dream. 
All  the  panels  have  been  repainted  and  have  suf- 
fered hardly  from  the  ravages  of  time,  but  perhaps 
none  has  been  so*  blatantly  modernized  as  this,  the 
most  entrancing  of  the  nine.  Beside  Carpaccio’s 
name  and  the  date  1495  are  found  the  words,  “ Cor- 
tinus  R (restauravit)  1752.”  It  is  not  difficult  to 
see  the  self-satisfied  smirk  which  dominated  that 
eighteenth-century  vandal  as  he  signed  his  name 


IRoom  flDIL  — Sala  fcel  Carpaccio  115 


with  a flourish  to1  his  completed  work  of  ruin. 
Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  his  worst,  which,  after  all, 
was  probably  his  best,  “ Cortinus  ” has  not  entirely 
despoiled  this  flower  of  Carpaccio’s  creation. 

It  is  the  interior  of  a large,  stately  chamber, 
quietly  yet  sumptuously  furnished  in  fifteenth-cen- 
tury Venetian  style.  At  the  left,  in  a handsomely 
carved  bed,  its  four  tall,  slender  posts  bearing  a 
narrow,  many  pointed  canopy,  lies  Ursula  asleep. 
She  is  tightly  tucked  under  the  red  coverlet  and 
turned  over  sheet,  her  hand  under  her  cheek,  her 
eyes  fast  closed,  seeing  only  in  the  dream  the  an- 
gelic visitor  who  has  come  to  warn  her  of  her 
approaching  martyrdom.  The  angel  stands  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed  in  the  midst  of  a spreading  light 
that  floods  angel,  floor,  and  couch.  The  pose  of  the 
heavenly  visitant  is  wonderfully  effective.  It  is  as 
if  she  had  just  been  wafted  in  by  that  very  light 
that  spreads  about  her.  This  light,  indeed,  is  so 
beautifully  studied,  so  expressive  in  its  realism,  that 
Berenson  seems  not  far  afield  when  he  says  that 
the  picture  is  really  that  Tof  a room  with  the  light 
playing  softly  upon  its  walls,  upon  the  flower-pots 
in  the  window,  and  upon  the  writing-table  and  the 
cupboards.”  Like  the  Dutch  painters,  he  says 
again,  Carpaccio  is  a painter  of  “ genre ,”  and  deals 
with  his  subject  “ for  the  sake  of  its  own  pictorial 
capabilities  and  for  the  sake  of  the  effects  of  colour 


n6  zhc  Hrt  of  tbe  liJenice  Hcabemp 


and  of  light  and  shade.”  At  the  same  time  the 
sympathetic  treatment  here  has  so  reverent  a qual- 
ity, so  tender  and  expressive,  that  even  those  who 
do  not  need  a literary  element  in  a picture  to  appre- 
ciate it  must  feel  the  beauty  and  pathos  of  this 
story. 

In  the  seventh,  Ursula  arrives  at  Cologne,  a pic- 
ture principally  of  huge-hulled  ships  at  anchor  be- 
fore a walled  city,  from  whose  towers  flags  and 
banners  fly.  In  the  foreground  some  soldiers  are 
standing  talking,  and  a dog  lies  on  a float,  one  of 
the  natural,  homely  bits  Carpaccio  was  always  in- 
serting. 

Frightfully  hurt  by  retouching  is  the  Martyrdom 
and  Funeral  of  Ursula.  Two-thirds  of  the  picture 
are  devoted  to  the  massacre  of  the  maidens  by  the 
Huns.  In  the  foreground,  Ursula  kneels  with 
prayer-folded  hands,  waiting  calmly  for  the  arrow 
with  which  a gorgeously  armoured  Hun  is  about 
to  pierce  her  breast.  Equally  unmoved  appear  all 
her  maidens,  each  one  meeting  her  death  with  a 
tranquillity  as  touching  as  it  is  extraordinary.  On 
the  other  hand,  there  is  little  rage  or  ferocity  dis- 
played by  the  Huns.  Almost  they  seem  to  say 
politely,  “ By  your  leave,  mesdames,”  before  they 
shoot. 

At  the  right  is  a very  beautiful  little  scene. 
Mounting  the  steps  of  a church  are  the  four  priests 


IRootti  fM.  — ©ala  bel  Carpaccio  117 


bearing  the  bier  upon  which  the  dead  princess  lies 
as  if  asleep,  her  pure,  delicate  profile  as  quietly 
at  peace  as  in  her  dream.  Behind  them  come  more 
officers  of  the  Church,  and  in  the  foreground  at 
the  steps  kneels  a woman  praying.  Over  all  is  the 
soft  and  tender  light  Carpaccio  knew  so  well  how 
to  express. 

S.  Ursula  in  Glory  receiving  her  crown  is  the 
last  of  the  series.  Under  a roofless  arcade  kneel 
the  company  of  virgins  martyred  with  Ursula. 
All  are  gazing  upward  at  the  princess,  who,  stand- 
ing on  a pedestal  made  of  palms,  is  raised  above 
their  heads.  About  her  fly  little  angels,  two  over 
her  head  holding  the  crown  she  is  to  wear.  Above 
all  is  the  figure  of  God,  the  Father,  with  extended 
arms.  The  lines  of  the  composition  here  are  en- 
tirely unsatisfactory,  and  not  at  all  up  to  Car- 
paccio’s standard.  But  in  the  earnestness  of  the 
maidens’  faces  and  in  the  soft  beauty  of  Ursula’s, 
he  has  displayed  so  deep  a piety  and  belief  that,  as 
an  expression  of  religious  fervour,  it  has  always 
been  accorded  great  praise. 

Of  the  entire  series,  Messrs.  Blashfield  and 
Hopkins  say,  “ The  dream  of  Ursula  is  the  most 
naively  charming,  the  scene  of  the  ambassadors 
the  most  sober  and  closely  studied,  that  of  the 
meeting  of  the  prince  and  Ursula  the  most  pic- 
torial and  entertaining.” 


CHAPTER  VII. 


ROOM  V.  — SALA  DEI  BELLINIANX 

Carlo  Crivelli,  who  has  two  mutilated  spec- 
imens of  his  work  in  the  room  called  Sala  dei 
Belliniani,  is  supposed  to  have  been  born  some- 
where near  1440.  Though  he  always  signed  him- 
self a Venetian,  he  has  nothing  in  common  with 
the  painters  whose  works  at  once  stamp  them  as 
Venetian.  There  is  no>  relation  observable  between 
him  and  Bellini,  Giorgione,  Titian,  or  Tintoretto. 
His  works,  however,  do  show  the  influence  of 
Squarcione  and  the  Vivarini.  “ Crivelli’s  special 
achievement,”  as  a critic  has  justly  observed,  “ was 
to  perpetuate  in  a more  modern  form  all  that  was 
best  in  the  Byzantine  tradition.” 

He  left  Venice  early  and  settled  for  the  rest  of 
his  life,  it  is  believed,  in  the  Marches,  a district 
with  no  large  cities,  and  thus  away  from  the  influ- 
ence of  the  art  already  changing  greatly  under 
Mantegna  and  the  Bellini.  Like  the  Byzantines 
and  early  Venetians,  his  use  of  gold  was  prodigal, 
and  up  to  the  end  of  his  career  he  built  out  in  re- 

118 


IRoorn  ID.  — Sala  bet  Belltntant  119 

lief  gold  ornaments,  bits  of  architecture,  brocades, 
etc.  He  painted  principally  large  anconas  of  often 
ten  panels  and  sometimes  with  a predella  added. 
They  generally  consist  of  a Virgin  and  Child  in 
the  centre,  supported  by  four  saints,  two  on  a side. 
Above  these  are  more  panels  of  half-length  figures, 
the  central  one  here  usually  being  the  Pieta.  In 
general,  it  may  be  said  that  from  almost  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end  of  his  artistic  career  he  changed 
comparatively  little;  it  was  seldom  that  he  painted 
a composition  of  connected  and  related  figures, 
though  in  his  later  years  he  sometimes  disregarded 
the  many  panelled  piece,  and  began  to>  group  his 
figures  of  saints  around  the  Madonna  and  Child 
without  any  intervening  framework.  Up  to  the 
last  he  did  not  often  succeed  in  portraying  any  very 
great  depth  of  emotion,  but  he  could  express  dig- 
nity, a certain  exquisite  poise  of  manner,  and  a 
gentle  grace.  In  his  later  age  his  brocades,  archi- 
tectural adjuncts,  and  hangings,  all  become  more 
and  more  elaborate.  He  studied  his  flowers  and 
fruit  from  nature,  and  in  almost  all  his  composi- 
tions used  them  with  fine  decorative  effect.  In  the 
scenes  painted  with  outdoor  surroundings  he  often 
introduced  animals,  also  carefully  and  painstak- 
ingly studied  from  life.  In  fact,  in  all  his  acces- 
sories he  shows  a keen  regard,  a sharp  eye  for 
reality.  He  always  painted  in  tempera,  “ but  he 


120 


Uhc  Brt  ot  tbe  Venice  Bcabents 


used  it  with  a perfection  which  has  never  been  sur- 
passed.” He  did  not,  apparently,  know  much 
about  chiaroscuro,  his  tones  are  almost  as  flat  as 
a Japanese  painter’s,  and  they  are  as  fresh  and 
clear  to-day  as  if  they  had  been  applied  yesterday. 

He  was,  as  he  has  been  often  called,  a reaction- 
ary. He  did  not  belong  to  the  march  of  time.  He 
remains,  as  it  were  by  choice,  archaic  in  his  sub- 
jects, in  his  types,  in  his  treatment,  in  his  point 
of  view.  His  figures  are  long,  often  ill-con- 
structed, he  does  not  keep  proper  proportions  be- 
tween figures  on  the  same  plane,  he  has  limited 
ideas  of  anatomy,  of  perspective.  Within  his  own 
lines,  however,  he  was  a really  great  master.  His 
decorative  qualities  are  many  and  charming,  his 
feeling  is  simple,  sweet,  and  strong. 

His  two  round-topped  wooden  panels  in  this 
room  originally  each  held  two  saints.  In  the  first  are 
St.  Jerome  and  St.  Augustine,  in  full  canonicals. 
St.  Jerome,  dressed  as  a cardinal,  is  at  the  right, 
holding  two  books,  on  the  top  of  which  is  a model 
of  a church.  Standing  looking  at  him,  at  the  left 
and  slightly  behind,  is  Augustine,  or  Gregory,  as 
he  has  also  been  called,  in  papal  robes.  Above 
is  a six-winged  cherub,  and  below,  on  the  ground 
at  the  left,  and  only  half  in  the  picture,  a conven- 
tionalized lion. 

In  the  other  panel,  part  of  the  painting  is 


IRoottt  10.—  Sala  t>el  BelUitianl 


I 2 I 


rubbed  off,  leaving  only  half  of  the  figure  of  St. 
Peter.  He  is  reading  from  a book,  while  St.  Paul 
looks  over  his  shoulder.  The  latter  is  dressed  in 
red  and  green,  and  has  his  left  hand  on  a sword. 
On  the  floor  are  two>  books.  Over  their  heads, 

also,  is  a six-winged  cherub.  Both  panels  have 
gold  backgrounds.  They  were  originally  in  S. 
Domenico,  Camerino,  but  until  recently  had  been 
in  possession  of  the  Marchese  Servanzi  Colli  at 
S.  Sever ino.  Apparently  they  were  once  the  out- 
side panels  to  a large  altar-piece.  They  are  in 
Crivelli’s  usual  style,  and  were  evidently  painted 
at  about  the  middle  of  his  career. 

The  four  saints,  Roch,  Sebastian,  Emidio, 
Bernard  of  Siena,  with  a brocaded  hanging  behind 
each,  are  probably  by  Vittore  Crivelli,  brother  of 
Carlo,  but  vastly  inferior  artist  to  him. 

A Pieta  and  a Crucifixion  in  this  room  have  been 
ascribed  to  Donato  Veneziano,  who  is  thought  to 
have  been  either  a pupil* or  assistant  of  Bellini,  or 
else  a mere  imitator  of  his  manner. 

The  Pieta,  if  by  him,,  is  at  best,  it  is  claimed, 
only  a copy  of  one  in  the  Berlin  Museum  now  at- 
tributed to  Bellini.  It  is  on  canvas  in  oil,  and  the 
figures  are  half-length.  Jesus  is  shown  sitting  on 
the  tomb  supported  by  Mary  and  John.  Much 
of  it  has  been  repainted. 

The  Crucifixion  is  better  executed,  and  critics 


122 


Ufee  Brt  of  tbe  Denice  Bcabem^ 


have  doubted  whether  Donato  ever  was  respon- 
sible for  it,  even  in  its  original  estate.  Mary  Mag- 
dalen is  kneeling  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  at  the 
right  are  St.  John  and  St.  Bernard  of  Siena,  at 
the  left,  the  Madonna  and  St.  Francis.  Jerusalem 
is  seen  in  the  background  between  two>  trees,  with 
mountains  in  the  distance.  The  colours  are  bright, 
and  it  is  painted  in  a high  key. 

Two  pictures  by  Mansueti  are  in  this  room,  the 
Virgin  and  Child  with  Saints  and  the  group  of 
Five  Saints.  The  first  shows  the  Madonna  seated 
in  the  centre,  the  baby  Christ  in  her  arms.  He  is 
blessing  the  donor,  who,  kneeling  at  the  left,  is 
being  presented  by  St.  Peter.  The  latter  is  in  a 
green  robe,  and  has  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
the  donor.  At  the  right  are  two>  other  saints,  one 
in  the  foreground  three-quarters  turned  to  the 
left,  dressed  in  a green  robe  and  red  mantle,  the 
other,  farther  back,  also  in  a green  robe,  holding 
an  open  book.  There  is  a landscape  background, 
with  a village  on  the  shore  of  a river  at  the  left. 

In  the  other  panel,  St.  Sebastian  is  in  the  cen- 
tre, Sts.  Francis  and  Roch  at  the  right,  Sts. 
Gregory  and  Liberale  at  the  left.  The  scene  is  in 
a pillared  corridor,  or  loggia,  with  a tiled  floor. 
Bound  to  one  of  the  pillars  is  Sebastian,  nude 
save  for  a brown  loin-cloth,  his  arms  tied  over  his 
head,  the  death-dealing  arrows  still  sticking  into 


IRoorn  ID*  — Sala  t>et  Belltntant 


123 


him.  Behind  the  five  is  stretched  a red  drapery 
with  green  border.  All  the  figures,  with  the  possi- 
ble exception  of  Gregory,  are  standing  with  their 
weight  thrown  firmly  on  one  leg,  St.  Roch  on  his 
left,  St.  Francis  on  his  right,  St.  Liberale  on  his 
left  again,  St.  Sebastian  on  his  right.  This  brings 
the  position  of  the  feet  and  legs  of  these  figures, 
already  too  much  on  a line,  in  curiously  similar 
angles,  and  adds  to  the  artificiality  of  the  picture. 
In  spite  of  this,  however,  there  are  much  earnest- 
ness and  dignity  in  the  figures  of  the  saints  them- 
selves, and  in  the  composition  as  a whole. 

About  the  same  age  as  Bastiani,  probably,  was 
Bartolommeo  Montagna,  a Brescian  by  birth,  but 
who  seems  to  have  got  his  training  mostly  in 
Venice,  and  who  lived  and  worked  in  Vicenza,  a 
neighbouring  city  of  Padua,  as  early  as  1470. 
He  is  the  most  noted,  with  best  reason,  of  all  the 
Vicentines.  It  is  thought  that  he  studied  under, 
or  was  influenced  by,  Carpaccio  and  Bellini,  and 
also  by  Mantegna,  to  whom,  however,  he  probably 
owes  less  than  has  been  generally  supposed.  As 
a colourist  Montagna  stands  high;  his  palette  was 
rich  if  rather  dark,  with  full,  bright,  clear  tones, 
and  his  pictures  have,  as  has  been  noted,  a “ gem- 
like ” effect  in  their  shimmering  brilliance  of  col- 
our. His  figures  often  have  a noble  expressive- 
ness, and  at  times  he  achieves  an  almost  Man- 


i24  Xfbe  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcabemi? 


tegnesque  grandeur  of  form  and  composition;  his 
treatment  of  drapery  is  simple  and  unusually  free 
from  intricate,  unimportant  folds;  his  landscape 
backgrounds  show  poetic  fancy  and  originality, 
though  overminute  in  detail.  His  earlier  pictures 
have  far  more  traces  of  archaisms  than  his  later, 
and  he  seems  to  have  gained  greatly  from  his  con- 
tact with  the  famous  Venetians  of  his  day.  Toward 
the  end,  his  figures  grow  leaner,  more  angular,  and 
harder.  Of  this  class  are  the  two  in  the  Academy, 
both  of  which  are  in  this  room.  They  were 
painted  for  the  Church  of  S.  Rocco  in  Vicenza. 

The  Madonna  and  Child  with  St.  Jerome  and 
St.  Sebastian  has  figures  of  almost  life-size.  The 
Madonna  is  seated  on  a throne  of  Romanesque 
design  inlaid  with  rich  marbles,  placed  in  the  cen- 
tre between  two  arches  forming  the  background 
of  a portico,  or  loggia,  also  inlaid  with  coloured 
designs  on  a gold  ground.  She  sits  in  full  face, 
dressed  in  the  Venetian  costume  of  the  time,  her 
dress  red  with  gold-embroidered  borders,  her 
corsage  light,  and  mantle  dark  green.  Her  head 
is  bent  gracefully  a little  toward  her  left  shoulder, 
her  eyes  turned  to  her  right,  and  she  has  a contem- 
plative sweetness  of  expression  joined  to  much 
dignity  of  carriage.  Supported  by  her  hand  and 
arm,  the  nude  baby  Christ  stands  on  her  right  knee. 
His  figure  is  carefully  and  well  drawn,  but  his 


IRoom  ID,  — Sala  bet  Beiltntant 


125 


position  is  unchildlike  in  its  swing  and  poise.  At 
the  left  of  the  picture,  bound  by  his  hands  to  a 
column,  and  pierced  by  his  arrows  of  martyrdom, 
is  St.  Sebastian,  nude  save  for  the  cloth  about  his 
loins.  His  body  is  almost  in  profile,  his  face, 
lifted,  gazing  heavenward,  is  turned  three-quarters 
to  the  spectator.  It  is  a splendidly  modelled  head 
and  of  an  elevated  type.  On  the  right  is  St. 
Jerome,  an  old,  white-bearded  man,  heavily  robed 
and  bearing  a large,  closed  volume.  He  is  look- 
ing out  of  the  picture.  The  anatomy  here  is  cor- 
rect, draperies  well  and  flowingly  treated.  Sebas- 
tian is  the  best  modelled  and  most  interesting  figure. 

Jesus  between  St.  Roch  and  St.  Sebastian  is  a 
large,  square  picture.  Jesus,  nude  except  for  his 
loin-cloth,  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  composition, 
displaying  his  wounds.  St.  Sebastian  is  at  the 
left,  arrow-pierced,  as  usual.  St.  Roch  is  at  the 
right,  in  green  tunic,  red  mantle,  brown  boots 
with  yellow  tops,  his  staff  on  his  left  shoulder, 
his  hat  on  his  back.  Both  saints  have  hands  met 
prayerwise,  adoring  the  Saviour.  Behind  Jesus 
is  a red  drapery,  and  in  the  background  is  a wall 
of  coloured  marbles. 

The  two  nude  figures  are  capitally  modelled  and 
constructed.  As  a composition  the  introduction  of 
the  gaily  dressed  figure  of  St.  Roch  gives  the  scene 
a curiously  one-sided  appearance. 


126  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Hcabent# 


A very  quaint  work  by  Lazzaro  Sebastian,  called 
Bastiani,  is  not  without  some  charm  and  feeling, 
and  with  a certain  decorative  quality  in  the  plac- 
ing and  arrangement  of  the  curious  composition. 
It  is  a round-topped  panel,  the  upper  part  pretty 
well  fifled  by  the  branches  and  leaves  of  a flower- 
ing tree,  in  the  midst  of  which  sits  St.  Anthony  of 
Padua.  His  seat  is  a board  fastened  across  the 
upper  limbs,  his  footstool  the  crotch  of  the  tree 
made  by  the  lower  and  bigger  branches.  He  is  in 
full  face,  and  his  right  hand  is  lifted  as  if  he  were 
expounding  with  emphasis  something  from  the 
book  which,  now  closed,  he  holds  upright  on  his 
left  knee.  The  trunk  of  the  tree  divides  the  panel 
into  two'  even  parts.  On  the  left,  sitting  on  a low 
stone  coping,  is  a cardinal,  looking  up  to  the 
saint  in  the  tree,  his  right  hand  lifted.  On  the  right, 
St.  Bonaventura  is  reading  from  a large  book. 
The  background  is  of  low-lying  hills.  The  careful 
workmanship  of  the  leaves,  the  delicate  attention 
to  detail,  and  the  curious  archaic  attributes  are 
reminiscent,  perhaps,  of  Andrea  Vivarini. 

There  are  three  pictures  by  Carpaccio'  in  this 
room,  none  equal  to  his  Ursula  series  or  to  his 
great  Presentation,  only  one  indeed  even  approach- 
ing the  heights  he  reached  in  those.  This  is  the 
Meeting  of  Joachim  and  Anna,  which  has  been 
both  praised  and  condemned  by  the  critics.  The 


IRoom  ID.  — Sala  &ei  BelUntani 


127 


drapery  of  the  figures  is  undoubtedly  heavy,  clumsy, 
and  overvoluminous ; the  landscape  background, 
with  its  carefully  indicated  detail,  shows  traces  of 
the  early  school,  and  as  a composition  there  is  little 
connection  between  the  four  figures.  Nevertheless, 
it  is  also'  true,  as  others  have  eagerly  noted,  that 
the  faces  of  the  four  saints  are  rarely  pure  and 
radiant,  the  execution  of  the  hands  remarkably  ex- 
cellent, with  both  pathos  and  beauty  in  the  greet- 
ing of  the  two'  clasping  each  other  so  tenderly. 

In  the  foreground,  in  the  centre,  stands  Joachim,, 
with  his  arms  about  Anna.  They  have  just  met, 
and  while  her  head  is  bowed  almost  to  his  shoulder, 
his  is  bent  toward  her,  deepest  interest  and  affection 
showing  in  every  feature.  The  two  are  clad  in  the 
bright  colours  Carpaccio'  loved,  but  there  is  noth- 
ing garish  or  hard  in  his  juxtaposition  of  varying 
shades.  Joachim’s  robe  is  green,  his  tunic  red, 
his  heavy  cloak  gray,  embroidered  with  gold.  Under 
Anna’s  tremendously  heavy,  full,  red  mantle  is 
seen  a blue  dress  with  yellow  sleeves.  At  the  right, 
near  her,  stands  Ursula  with  her  martyr’s  palm  and 
a tall  banner.  She  is  clad  in  gown  of  blue,  a 
yellow  underskirt,  and  a rose-toned  mantle.  On 
her  golden  hair  is  a crown,  and  she  stands  in  a 
contemplation  that  has  apparently  nothing  in  con- 
nection with  this  meeting  between  the  Virgin’s 
parents.  Her  face  is  pale  and  earnest,  her  whole 


128  zbc  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  BcaDem# 


expression  one  of  suffering  gentleness.  St.  Louis 
of  France,  who*  stands  in  profile  at  the  other  side 
of  the  principal  group,  is  a sturdy,  full-chested, 
beardless  youth  in  a purple  robe,  a mantle  of  blue 
and  gold  brocade,  and  an  ermine  cape.  In  his 
right  hand  he  holds  his  sceptre.  If  there  is  a 
slight  woodenness  in  his  figure,  his  face,  at  least, 
is  more  nearly  worthy  of  the  man  who  painted  the 
Presentation.  The  panel  was  taken  from  S. 
Francesco  in  Treviso. 

The  Crucifixion  of  a Thousand  Christians  on 
Mt.  Ararat  is  entirely  unworthy  of  the  painter 
whose  name  signs  it. 

A lunette  in  this  room,  called  the  Transfigura- 
tion, is  generally  supposed  tO'  be  by  Pier  Maria 
Pennacchi,  though  the  new  catalogue  of  the  Acad- 
emy ascribes  it  to  his  brother  Girolamo*.  It  is 
painted  in  tempera,  and  was  a part  of  an  altar- 
piece  no  longer  in  existence,  which  was  executed 
for  the  Church  of  S.  Margarita  of  Treviso*.  The 
influence  of  Squarcione  can  be  felt  in  the  rigidity 
of  the  three  figures  and  in  the  angularity  of  the 
folds  of  the  voluminous  draperies.  Jesus,  in  a 
heavy  white  tunic  and  mantle,  stands  in  the  centre 
in  full  face,  his  hands  lifted  in  blessing.  He  is 
on  a rocky  mound  supposed  to  represent  Mt.  Tabor. 
On  a slightly  lower  level,  adoring  him,  are  Moses 
and  Elias.  Moses  is  at  his  left,  in  a red  robe,  dark 


IRoom  ID.  — Sala  3Belliniant 


129 


yellow  mantle,  and  turban  wound  about  his  head. 
On  the  Saviour’s  right  is  Elias,  dressed  in  red  and 
gray,  with  a yellow  turban.  The  robes  of  the  two 
are  flying  as  if  caught  in  a high  wind.  The  whole 
picture  is  coarsely  executed.  There  is  some  at- 
tempt at  characterization  in  the  faces,  but  it  is  not 
highly  successful. 

Pier  Maria  Pennacchi,  born  in  Treviso  in  1464, 
studied  with  Bellini,  and  in  his  early  pictures  shows 
the  influence  of  Squarcione.  Some  of  these  are  so 
angular  and  rude  in  drapery  that  they  have  been 
given  to  German  masters.  His  later  works  are, 
however,  very  Bellinesque. 

Christ  Before  the  Doctors,  in  this  room,  usually 
given  to  Girolamo,  the  nephew  of  Pier  Maria,  is 
in  the  new  catalogue  ascribed  to  Pennacchi  the 
Elder.  Girolamo,  besides  being  a painter,  was  at 
one  time  architect  for  Henry  VIII.  The  picture 
just  mentioned  shows  a decided  technical  advance 
over  the  lunette  of  the  Transfiguration,  both  in  its 
treatment  of  form  and  drapery,  but  especially  in 
its  compositional  construction. 

On  a high  marble  seat,  or  throne,  within  an 
arched  recess,  sits  the  boy  Christ,  in  full  face,  one 
hand  resting  on  his  knee,  the  other  raised,  pointing 
heavenward.  He  is  looking  downward  to  the  doc- 
tors who  are  clustered  about  the  base  of  the  throne. 
There  are  eight  of  these,  four  on  each  side,  and 


i3°  Ube  Hrt  o t the  Venice  Bcabent£ 


their  gestures  and  movements  indicate  with  great 
spirit  the  intensity  of  their  questions.  Farther 
forward,  on  each  side  of  the  columns  supporting 
the  arch  of  the  recess,  are  two  saints  of  the  Roman 
Church,  on  the  right  Augustine  and  Ambrose,  on 
the  left  Jerome  and  Gregory.  They,  too,  are  lis- 
tening to  the  discussion,  thus  making  the  whole 
composition  more  homogeneous. 

The  Supper  at  Emmaus  in  this  room,  by  Marco 
Marziale,  shows  clearly  the  painter’s  affinity  with 
the  German  school.  It  has  little  to  recommend  it 
except  its  conscientious  attention  to  detail  and  a 
portraitlike  quality  in  all  the  heads  save  that  of 
Jesus.  The  table  is  set  in  a low-raftered  room, 
hardly  large  enough  for  the  company.  Opposite 
the  spectator  sits  Jesus,  his  perfectly  inane,  flat 
face  far  less  interesting  than  any  one  of  the  earnest, 
intent  countenances  of  the  two  men  at  either  end, 
the  host  at  the  right,  or  even  the  Ethiopian  stand- 
ing beside  him.  The  elaborate  working  out  of  the 
pattern  on  the  hanging  against  the  walls,  the  bro- 
cade of  the  host’s,  the  stripes  of  the  negro’s  cos- 
tumes, the  many  folds  of  robes,  cloth,  and  curtains, 
make  the  picture  interesting  as  an  example  of  what 
German  influence  on  the  Italian  mind  can  do  in 
art.  But  it  is  far  below  the  level  of  the  ordinary 
attainments  of  the  Venetian  painters  of  Marziale’s 
day. 


IRoom  It)*  — Sala  bet  JBelltntant  13* 

Scarcely  anything  is  known  of  this  Marco  Mar- 
ziale  except  that  he  lived  in  Venice  toward  the 
beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and,  as  is  evi- 
dent from  this  one  work,  that  he  was  largely 
influenced  by  German  art  canons.  Whether  he 
and  Marco  Bello,  whose  Madonna  and  Child  with 
St.  John  is  also  in  this  room,  are  the  same,  is  not 
definitely  settled,  though  many  critics  incline  to 
that  belief.  Works  by  Marco  Bello  are  extremely 
rare  in  any  collection.  It  is  thought  that  he  was 
a follower  of  Giovanni  Bellini,  and  his  best  work 
is  the  Presentation  at  Rovigo,  which  is  only  a copy 
of  that  by  Bellini  at  Castle  Howard.  The  one 
canvas  in  this  room,  the  Madonna  and  Child,  is 
feebly  executed,  with  little  to  recommend  it  ex- 
cept a certain  harmony  of  colour. 

Basaiti  has  several  works  here,  the  most  noted, 
perhaps,  being  the  Scene  at  Gethsemane.  Jesus 
and  his  disciples  are  shown  to  the  observer  through 
a Roman  archway  which  forms  the  sides  and  upper 
part  of  the  composition.  In  front,  on  each  side 
of  the  arch,  stand  two>  saints,  on  the  right  St. 
Dominick  and  St.  Mark,  only  the  upper  part  of  the 
latter  being  visible;  on  the  left,  St.  Francis,  read- 
ing, and  behind  him  St.  Louis  of  Toulouse,  whose 
head  alone  can  be  seen.  They  are  standing  on  a 
tiled  flooring,  arid  over  their  heads  swings  an  altar- 
lamp.  Beyond,  through  the  arch,  is  a rocky  mount. 


132  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  Denice  Bcabem# 


At  the  base  lie  the  three  sleeping  disciples,  ar- 
ranged in  a pyramidal  grouping,  with  one  stretched 
out  flat  in  front  on  his  back,  the  two  others  behind 
him  half-sitting,  half-lying.  Above,  on  a project- 
ing ledge,  Jesus  kneels,  an  ill-constructed,  unim- 
pressive figure.  At  his  right  grows  a scraggy, 
leafless  tree.  Above  is  an  angel,  flying  with  ex- 
tended arms.  In  the  distance  castles  mass  against 
the  sky,  and  on  the  road  to  the  mount  come  the 
betrayer  and  his  crowd. 

The  best  parts  of  this  composition  are  the  figures 
of  the  saints  without  the  arch.  They  are  carefully 
if  rather  rigidly  drawn,  and  have  a reality  and 
actual  personality  that  perhaps  only  Bellini  and 
Carpaccio  could,  at  that  day,  have  surpassed. 

St.  George  and  the  Dragon,  by  the  same  painter, 
has  little  of  the  power  or  beauty  or  poetry  of  Man- 
tegna’s St.  George,  but,  like  the  saints  in  the  Geth- 
semane  scene,  it  has  a certain  rude  naturalness, 
that,  joined  to  the  conscientious  rendering  of  de- 
tail, makes  it  of  real  interest,  and  invests  even 
its  archaism  with  an  air  of  plausibility. 

A rather  fat  and  cotton-woolly  white  horse,  but 
still  rearing  on  his  hind  legs  with  considerable 
action,  is  slightly  back  of  a dragon  which  is 
stretched  out  across  the  foreground.  It  is  a regu- 
lar fairy-story  dragon  with  its  long,  twisted,  scaly 
tail,  backbone  rising  in  sharp  points,  wicked  claws, 


IRoom  It).  — Sala  bet  36ellmtant  133 


wings  near  its  griffin  head.  St.  George,  almost  in 
profile,  holds  his  horse  firmly  in  his  left  hand,  his 
sword  lifted  high  in  his  right.  He  is  in  full  ar- 
mour except  for  his  head,  which  is  bare,  his  long, 
loose,  parted  hair  adding  to  the  youthfulness  of 
his  face.  It  is  a rather  immobile  face,  expressing 
no  particular  emotion  of  any  kind.  At  the  right, 
clasping  a tree,  is  the  rescued  princess,  in  dress  and 
type  of  face  quite  of  Basaiti’s  time  and  city.  Fill- 
ing the  middle  distance,  somewhat  too  near  for 
perspective  accuracy,  are  an  arched  bridge,  castel- 
lated hills  and  towers,  and  beyond,  high  broken 
mountains.  As  usual,  Basaiti’s  overinsistence  upon 
the  details  of  his  landscape  backgrounds  brings 
them  too  prominently  into  his  composition. 

Benedetto  Diana,  who  has  several  works  in  this 
room,  was  born  toward  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  and  died,  probably,  about  1525.  He  is 
known  principally  as  an  assistant  to  Carpaccio  and 
Mansueti  while  working,  in  S.  Giovanni  Evan- 
gelista, in  which  place  he  painted  the  picture  now 
in  the  Academy,  called  the  Brethren  Distributing 
Alms,  a picture  with  not  one  scrap  of  its  original 
surface  left.  Diana  was  also  the  fellow  worker 
with  Lazzaro  Bastiani  on  the  standards  for  the 
Piazza  S.  Marco.  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  say  of 
him  that  “ his  forms  are  weighty  and  more 
coarsely  materialistic  than  Carpaccio’s  or  Man- 


i34  Tlbe  Brt  of  tbe  Denice  Bcabent^ 


sueti’s;  his  draperies  are  muffled,  and  of  the  tex- 
ture of  blankets;  his  touch  heavy  and  fluid  like 
that  of  Savoldo.”  He  displays  in  his  tempera 
work  “ a chocolate  colour,  full  of  vulgar  accent 
and  exaggeration  in  the  outlines  of  limbs  and  body, 
boldly  incorrect  in  drawing,  and  broken  in  dra- 
pery, with  a coarse  wildness  pervading  the  features 
and  a hard,  raw  touch.”  In  his  oil  works,  as  seen 
in  the  half-length  Madonnas  and  saints  in  the 
Academy,  he  has  some  of  the  same  effects,  added 
to  which  are  “ dull,  horny,  and  high  surface  tones.” 
Curiously  enough,  while  his  earlier  work  shows 
marked  Squarcionesque  attributes,  his  later  has  not 
infrequently  been  taken  for  Catena's. 

It  is  to  this  latter  painter  that  Diana's  Madonna 
and  Child  with  Sts.  Jerome  and  John  the  Baptist, 
in  Room  5,  was  formerly  ascribed.  They  are  all 
half-length  figures,  behind  them  a landscape  back- 
ground with  low-lying  hills.  The  Virgin  is  sitting 
in  the  centre,  turned  three-quarters  to  the  left, 
draped  in  a mantle  covering  head,  shoulders,  and 
arms.  At  the  right  is  St.  Jerome,  also  heavily 
draped,  head  and  all,  holding  an  open  book.  At  the 
left  is  St.  John,  hair  and  beard  wild  and  ragged, 
eyes  lifted  skyward. 

Certainly  St.  John  is  portrayed  with  vigour  and 
intensity,  and  Jerome  does  not  lack  character. 
But  they  are  far  from  the  spontaneous,  natural 


IRoom  ID*  — Sala  fcei  Bclltniant  135 


creations  of  Bellini,  nor  have  they  the  unstudied 
simplicity  of  Carpaccio.  The  head  of  the  Madonna 
is  commonplace,  though  it  has  a primitive  dignity 
of  mien. 

The  Virgin  with  Four  Saints,  according  to 
Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle,  shows  strongly  the  influ- 
ence of  Squarcione  in  the  heavy  forms  and  angular 
types.  On  the  other  hand,  Burchardt  in  his  “ Cice- 
rone ” says  that  it  is  a picture  remarkable  for  the 
earnestness  of  expression,  plastic  character  of  the 
figures,  and  freshness  of  colour. 

The  Madonna,  dressed  in  a lilac  robe  and  blue 
mantle  lined  with  yellow,  is  shown  seated,  in  full 
face,  on  a throne  against  a green  background. 
The  baby  Jesus,  on  her  left  knee,  is  looking  toward 
the  right  at  St.  Justina,  who,  in  a red  robe  and 
green  mantle  and  a head-wrap  of  gray  and  white, 
holds  in  her  right  hand  the  handle  of  a poignard 
which  is  thrust  into  her  breast.  In  front,  in  the 
foreground,  with  her  vase  of  ointment,  is  Mary 
Magdalen,  dressed  in  a blue  robe,  mantle  of  rose 
colour,  and  head-dress  of  blue  and  white.  At  the 
left  are  St.  Jerome,  as  cardinal,  reading,  and  St. 
Benedict,  or  Bernard,  in  a white  surplice  and 
richly  decorated  dalmatic,  holding  his  cross.  A 
guinea-hen,  a trunk  of  a tree,  and  two  pieces  of 
wood  are  in  front,  with  two  placards  attached  to 
one  of  the  pieces  of  wood,  bearing  Benedetto’s 


136  Hhe  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcabents 


name  and  those  for  whom  the  picture  was 
painted. 

Of  the  four  pictures  by  Bissolo,  in  this  room,  the 
Coronation  of  St.  Catherine  is  the  largest,  and 
generally  considered  his  best  example.  The  figures 
are  life-size,  and  Eastlake  remarks  that  in  general 
design  they  recall  certain  characteristics  of  the 
school  of  Florence.  A large  part  of  the  picture 
is  devoted  to  the  landscape  background,  which  has 
a luminous,  sympathetic  quality  about  it. 

In  the  centre,  Catherine,  in  the  white  robes  of  a 
nun,  kneels  in  profile,  her  hands  crossed  on  her 
breast.  Jesus  stands  before  her,  lifting  the  crown 
of  thorns  from  her  head,  preparatory  to  replacing 
it  with  the  golden  one  which  he  holds  in  his  left 
hand.  He  is  dressed  in  a curiously  inharmonious 
combination  of  peacock  blue  and  crimson.  At  his 
left  stands  Peter,  in  a gray  robe  and  lilac  mantle, 
carrying  his  key  of  office  and  a book,  and  at  the 
right  are  Sts.  Paul  and  James.  Back  of  Catherine 
kneels  Mary  Magdalen,  dressed  in  a rose-toned 
robe  and  a green  mantle,  her  hands  joined  in 
prayer.  The  angel  leading  the  little  Tobias  with 
his  fish  is  at  the  left  again.  Above,  in  the  sky, 
surrounded  by  cherubs,  is  the  Almighty,  shown,  as 
usual,  only  to  the  waist,  His  arms  outstretched  in 
blessing. 

This  has  been  greatly  retouched,  but  it  has  some- 


tRoom  ID*  — Sala  bet  Beiltntant  137 


thing  of  the  feeling  of  devotion  and  calm  religious 
fervour  characteristic  of  the  early  Bellinesque 
school. 

The  Dead  Body  of  Jesus  with  Two  Angels  is 
weakly  ineffective  and  badly  drawn.  The  body  of 
the  crucified  one  is  half-sitting  on  a board  lying 
across  his  sepulchre,  half-leaning  against  the  angel 
standing  behind  him,  his  legs  still  in  the  coffinlike 
tomb.  At  the  other  side  is  the  other  angel,  lifting 
one  of  the  Saviour’s  arms.  There  is  little  or  no 
weight  expressed  in  the  supposedly  inert  body,  and 
no  appreciable  pressure  on  the  angel  upholding  it. 
The  poor  drawing  and  construction  of  the  figures 
are  not  atoned  for  by  a certain  insipid  sweetness 
in  the  expression  of  the  angel  faces,  nor  even  by 
a feeling  of  tender  piety  that  envelops  the  whole 
scene. 

The  Presentation  in  the  Temple  and  the  Virgin 
and  Child  with  Saints  have  figures  of  half-length, 
as  is  so  often  the  case  with  Bellini.  In  both  pic- 
tures the  Madonna’s  face  is  portrayed  with  much 
refinement  and  sweetness  of  expression,  and,  in  the 
latter,  the  babe  is  drawn  with  great  grace  and 
charm.  In  this  one,  too,  a young  girl,  at  the  left 
of  the  Madonna,  holding  a basket  with  two  doves, 
is  even  lovelier  and  more  attractive  than  the  Vir- 
gin. She  has  a round,  girlish  face  that  is  full  of 
a tender  light  not  often  found  in  later  Venetian 


138  Uhe  Hr!  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabemp 


works.  Simeon,  too,  is  an  earnest,  interesting  type, 
with  rugged,  severely  cut  features. 

The  painter  of  these,  Pier  Francesco  Bissolo,  is 
said  to  have  been  born  in  Treviso,  from  which 
place  he  went  to  Venice,  where  he  worked  under 
Bellini.  He  acquired  great  facility  in  imitating 
his  master,  and,  undoubtedly,  finished  many  of  his 
pictures.  Some  of  his  own  works  have,  indeed, 
passed  for  those  of  Bellini.  Crowe  and  Caval- 
caselle  say  of  him  that  “ he  was  of  a soft  and 
tender  fibre,  like  Sassoferrato,  very  careful  and 
conscientious,  and,  amongst  Venetians,  a sort  of 
Spagna.  ...  he  was  apparently  affected  by  the  ex- 
ample of  Catena  ; and  the  first  specimens  of  his 
industry  are  akin  to  Vincenzo’s  in  the  small  char- 
acter of  the  personages  and  a hard,  high  texture 
of  colour.  The  tones  of  flesh  are  dry  and  empty, 
yet  clouded  so  as  to  lose  precision.  The  landscape 
is  sharp  in  tint,  yet  undefined  in  contours.” 

Before  the  end  of  his  career,  Bissolo  shows  cer- 
tain Giorgionesque  and  Palmesque  traits  in  his 
works.  At  times  he  takes  a composition  of  Bellini, 
adds  a figure  or  two,  or  changes  the  relative  posi- 
tions of  one  or  another,  much  to  the  detriment 
of  its  compositional  integrity,  and  signs  it  frankly 
with  his  own  name,  quite  as  if  such  execution  was 
the  usual  and  honourable  custom  of  artists! 

Little  is  known  of  another  painter  represented 


IRoorn  ID*  — Sala  bet  SelUntanl  139 


in  this  room,  Rocco'  Marconi,  who  is  called  a pupil 
of  both  Bellini  and  Palma  Vecchio1,  except  that 
he  was  born  in  Treviso  and  that  he  worked  at  the 
end  of  the  fifteenth  and  beginning  of  the  sixteenth 
centuries.  He  is  especially  noted  for  his  beautiful, 
transparent  colour,  which  has  been  praised  as  be- 
ing at  times  almost  more  beautiful  than  Giorgione’s. 
At  his  best  he  was  capable  of  really  noble  expres- 
sion and  of  fine  feeling,  though  frequently  his 
canvases  were  overcrowded  with  figures  and 
showed  an  almost  primitive  method  of  composition, 
and  his  types  were  weak  and  ineffective. 

The  new  catalogue  of  the  Academy  gives  him 
only  one  of  the  three  pictures  that  have  always 
been  attributed  to  him,  — the  unimportant  canvas 
of  Jesus  between  Two  Saints.  The  Woman  Taken 
in  Adultery,  Professor  Pietro  Paoletti  di  Oswaldo 
claims  to  be  a copy,  and  says  that  the  famous 
Descent  from  the  Cross  was  probably  only  com- 
pleted by  Marconi.  Berenson,  Lafenestre,  and 
most  modern  critics,  however,  still  consider  him 
to  be  the  author  of  all  three. 

Of  these  three,  the  Descent  from  the  Cross  is 
by  far  the  best.  It  is  a large  picture,  which  orig- 
inally had  an  arched  top,  and  it  now  measures 
about  eleven  feet  high  by  eight  wide.  A tall 
wooden  cross  fills  the  centre  of  the  composition, 
and  at  its  foot  sits  Mary,  in  full  face,  dressed  in 


i4o  Ufoe  Brt  of  tfoe  IDentce  Bcafcem$ 


a greenish  blue  mantle,  with  a white  linen  head- 
veil.  She  supports  the  head  of  her  crucified  Son 
on  her  knees,  his  body  lying  stretched  out  on  a 
white  cloth  embroidered  in  gold.  At  the  right 
kneels  Mary  Magdalen,  her  arms  outstretched,  clad 
in  a beautiful  robe  of  rose  figured  with  black  and 
a green  mantle,  over  which  falls  her  fair  hair. 
Joseph  of  Arimathea  kneels  at  the  left,  his  hands 
clasped,  and  behind  him  is  a saint  in  nun’s  garb, 
and  opposite,  a monk.  Back  of  this  group  are  seen 
two'  rabbits  in  the  underbrush,  and,  on  a roadway 
running  along  a high  cliff,  men  in  Oriental  cos- 
tume. In  the  distance  is  a village  on  the  banks  of 
a river,  with  hills  massing  high  on  either  side. 

This  is  by  far  the  most  effective  and  the  most 
affecting  of  all  Marconi’s  works.  The  Madonna’s 
face  is  pretty  rather  than  noble,  the  Magdalen’s 
grief,  as  usual  with  even  greater  painters,  some- 
what theatric,  though  she  is  marvellously  beau- 
tiful. The  figure  of  Christ  is  splendidly  drawn 
and  modelled,  and  has  a serene,  calm  dignity  in 
death  that  has  not  been  too  many  times  surpassed 
by  any  of  the  men  of  the  Renaissance.  The  scheme 
of  colouring  throughout  is  replete  with  a softened 
richness  of  harmony  that  makes  the  whole  picture 
a veritable  gem  of  the  Venetian  school.  The  fig- 
ures are  life-size. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


ROOM  III. SALA  SCUOLE  VARIE  ITALIAN E 

In  Room  3 there  is  an  elaborate  frieze,  most  of 
the  panels  of  which  were  painted  for  the  Scuola 
Grande  of  S.  Giovanni  Evangelista  by  Titian. 
Four  of  these  represent  the  symbols  of  the  Evan- 
gelists, and  fifteen  smaller  ones  hold  angels  and 
carved  heads.  Forming  part  of  the  same  frieze 
are  some  paintings  on  canvas,  depicting  the  Tables 
of  Law,  and  another  with  the  head  of  an  angel. 
These  are  works  of  the  last  century. 

In  this  room  the  Venetian  school  gives  place  to 
examples  of  the  art  of  the  Renaissance  from  other 
parts  of  Italy.  The  earliest  painter  here  repre- 
sented is  Gentile  da  Fabriano,  the  master  of  Jacopo 
Bellini,  godfather  of  Gentile  Bellini,  and  thus,  in  a 
way,  the  founder  of  the  entire  Venetian  school  of 
painting. 

His  real  name  was  Gentile  di  Niccolo  di  Gio- 
vanni Massi.  He  was  born  between  1360  and 
1370,  probably  in  the  Umbrian  town  of  Fabri- 
ano. It  has  been  supposed  that  he  studied  with 


i42  TIbe  art  of  tbe  IDentce  Hcabemy 


Allegretto  Nuzi,  though,  if  Nuzi  died  in  1365, 
as  has  also  been  claimed,  it  is  hardly  possible  that 
Gentile  could  have  been  his  pupil  unless  born  ear- 
lier than  the  date  usually  assigned.  It  has  also 
been  said  that  he  may  have  had  some  instruction 
from  Ottavanio  Nelli,  a painter  whose  style  re- 
calls Allegretto’s.  But  he  went  far  ahead  of  him 
if  that  is  true.  Not  much  is  fully  ascertained  about 
Gentile’s  life.  His  first  important  work,  so  far  as 
known,  was  decorating  a chapel  about  1419,  per- 
haps, for  Pandolfo  Malatesta,  Lord  of  Brescia  and 
Bergamo.  After  that  he  removed  to  Venice,  where, 
along  with  other  works,  assisted  by  the  Veronese 
Pisanello,  he  helped  decorate  the  hall  of  the  Ducal 
Palace,  with  scenes  from  the  life  of  Barbarossa. 
Everything  of  this  period  has  perished.  As  early 
as  1422  he  settled  in  Florence,  and  in  1423  the 
picture  by  which  he  is  most  generally  known,  the 
Adoration  of  the  Kings,  now  in  the  Accademia  in 
that  city,  was  painted. 

Gentile  was  the  first  of  the  Umbrians  to  achieve 
greatness,  and  not  for  a generation  after  his  death 
did  Umbria  produce  any  one  equal  to  him.  Beren- 
son  aptly  says  of  Fabriano,  that  “ he  devoted  his 
life  to  recording  the  mediaeval  idea  of  terrestrial 
happiness,  . . . when  the  actuality,  of  which  it  was 
the  enchanting  refraction,  was  just  about  to  fade 
into  the  past.” 


Sala  Scuole  IDarte  ftaltane 


143 


Fabriano  loved  the  glitter  and  solidity  of  highly 
raised  gold  embossing.  He  built  out  his  frame- 
work of  throne  or  dais  or  chair  with  actual  lumps 
and  ridges  of  the  shining  stuff,  and  scattered  it 
broadcast  over  gown  and  veil  and  robes,  put- 
ting exquisite  workmanship  into  the  brocades  and 
borders,  and  lining  and  counterlining  his  golden 
aureoles  with  “ much  fine  gold,”  throwing  flowers 
and  faces  full  of  smiling  pleasure  everywhere.  That 
his  gay  joyousness  had  foundation  of  solid  ability, 
and,  for  his  time,  unusual  and  real  knowledge,  the 
descendants  of  his  art  prove.  Without  Fabriano, 
who  can  tell  what  the  art  of  Venice  would  have 
been? 

His  Madonna  and  Child,  in  Room  3,  shows  the 
Mother  seated,  a half-length  figure.  Her  robe  is 
very  elaborately  brocaded  in  black  and  gold,  and 
she  wears  a white  linen  head-covering.  Over  the 
baby’s  body  is  a gauzy  white  veil,  one  end  of 
which  his  mother  is  lifting.  In  the  nimbus  about 
her  head  are  the  words  of  the  Annunciation  in 
golden,  mediaeval  letters.  The  background  is  gold, 
and  on  it  are  painted  angels  who  guard  the  Holy 
Pair.  The  horns  of  the  moon  show  at  the  base 
of  the  picture,  the  moon  being  one  of  the  symbols 
of  the  Virgin.  If  this  actually  is  by  Gentile  da 
Fabriano,  for  its  attribution  has  been  doubted,  it 
is  difficult  to'  judge  as  to  what  was  its  original 


i44  XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabems 


estate,  so  greatly  has  it  been  repainted.  The  pig- 
ment in  places  is  tremendously  thick,  and  his  sig- 
nature is  generally  considered  to  be  a modem 
addition. 

Younger  than  Gentile  da  Fabriano,  somewhat 
younger,  probably,  than  Jacopo  Bellini,  was  Piero 
della  Francesco,  though  the  year  of  his  birth  is 
not  yet  definitely  settled.  It  has  been  given  as 
early  as  1398,  and  even  later  than  1410.  His  full 
name  was  Piero  di  Benedetto  dei  Franceschi;  and 
he  was  born  at  Borgo  San  Sepolcro-,  between 
Arezzo  and  Urbino.  His  death  occurred,  it  is 
stated,  in  the  same  year  that  Columbus  discovered 
America.  Piero  studied  with  Domenico  Veneziano, 
who  was  no  Venetian,  whose  works,  on  the  con- 
trary, show  the  influence  of  Florence  and  Dona- 
tello more  than  all  else.  In  1451  Piero  was 
summoned  to  Rimini  by  Sigismondo  Pandolfo 
Malatesta.  This  last  named  villain  was  then 
thinking  of  rebuilding  the  Cathedral  of  San  Fran- 
cesco from  designs  by  Leo  Battista  Alberti.  Piero 
must  have  been  doubly  glad  to  go  to  Mala- 
testa’s  court,  for,  in  the  century  before,  Carlo 
and  Galeotto  Malatesta  had  guaranteed  the  little 
city  of  San  Sepolcro  the  preservation  of  its  in- 
dependence, and  without  their  protection  it  most 
likely  would  have  been  annexed  by  Florence  long 
before  its  ultimate  seizure  in  1441.  It  is  supposed 


Sala  Scuoie  Dade  fftaltane  14 s 

that  Piero  was  called  to  Rome  by  Nicholas  V., 
where,  according  to  Vasari,  he  executed  some 
frescoes  which  have  entirely  perished.  This  de- 
struction was  due,  it  is  said,  to  Julius  II.,  who  had 
the  rooms  holding  them  entirely  redecorated. 

He  painted  in  oils  and  did  much  toward  bring- 
ing that  medium  into  rriore  universal  and  trust- 
worthy vogue.  “ He  painted  his  lights  with  clear 
colour,  using  the  same  tint  somewhat  darkened 
for  the  shadows.  The  medium  tints  are  always 
cool  and  reticent,  and  the  flesh-tones  warmed  with 
a due  amount  of  colour.  The  delicacy  of  chiaros- 
curo which  he  achieved  was  largely  the  result  of 
fine  and  transparent  glazings,  and  few  painters  in 
any  age  have  excelled  him  in  the  faculty  of  illu- 
mination of  flesh-tints.” 

His  colouring,  if  quiet,  is  harmonious,  his  chia- 
roscuro shows  both  knowledge  and  considerable  in- 
vention. He  does  not  focus  his  light  on  one  part 
of  his  picture,  but  distributes  it  in  the  various 
planes,  showing  careful  study  of  every  field.  His 
treatment  of  architectural  forms  and  backgrounds 
is  worthy  of  the  man  whose  treatise  on  perspective 
was,  perhaps,  the  first  thing  of  its  kind  to  make 
popular  the  science,  which,  up  to  then,  was  almost 
untaught.  But  he  was  something  more  than  an 
admirable  workman.  In  all  his  compositions  there 
is  an  individuality,  a real  power,  that  compels  ad- 


146  tlbe  Brt  of  tbe  Venice  Hcabem^ 


miration,  even  when  one  objects  to  the  lack  of 
beauty  in  most  of  his  works.  It  is  the  character  of 
the  figures  in  his  paintings  that  gives  Piero  such 
a high  place  in  the  annals  of  art.  Without  ever 
obtruding  his  own  personality,  he  succeeds  in  creat- 
ing living,  real  human  beings,  in  whom  can  be 
felt  the  complexity  or  simplicity  of  their  natures 
almost  as  truly  as  if  the  people  themselves  were 
before  you.  He  had  an  objective  way  of  painting 
portraits  that  has,  perhaps,  never  been  excelled. 
Impersonality,  says  Mr.  Berenson,  is  “ his  most 
distinguishing  virtue,  — one  which  he  shares  with 
only  two  other  artists : the  one  nameless,  who 
carved  the  pediments  of  the  Parthenon,  and  the 
other,  Velasquez,  who  painted  without  ever  be- 
traying an  emotion.” 

His  picture,  in  Room  3 in  the  Academy,  is  prob- 
ably an  early  work,  so>  considered  from  the  uneven 
drawing  in  the  face  and  in  a crudeness  in  colour 
and  composition.  It  represents  St.  Jerome  seated 
on  a stone  bench,  dressed  in  a sleeveless,  belted 
shirt  that  leaves  his  breast  and  his  legs,  from  the 
knees  down,  bare.  He  holds  an  open  book  on  his 
lap,  and  seems  to  be  expounding  its  contents  to 
the  man  kneeling  at  the  right  of  the  picture,  fac- 
ing the  saint.  This  figure,  clad  in  a monk’s  garb, 
is  in  profile,  with  hands  met  prayerwise,  his  regard 
strictly  on  the  aged  saint.  It  has  been  said  that 


Sala  Scuole  IDarte  ftaUane 


*47 


this  monk  represented  Girolamo,  son  of  Carlo 
Malatesta  of  Sogliano.  Back  of  the  two  is  a hilly 
country  dotted  with  towns  and  towers,  trees  and 
rivers. 

It  is  not  Piero  at  his  greatest  expression,  but 
there  is  already  more  than  a hint  of  that  absolute 
frankness  of  regard,  that  unbiassed  view,  which 
gave  to  all  his  works  that  impersonality  so  often 
noticed  and  not  less  often  admired. 

There  is  a Madonna  and  Child  with  St.  Joseph 
and  St.  Catherine  in  this  room,  by  Jacopo  Raibolini, 
son  and  pupil  of  the  celebrated  Francesco  called 
11  Francia.  Jacopo,  or  Giacomo,  as  he  is  also  titled, 
was  born  in  the  latter  part  of  the  fifteenth  century. 
He  never  equalled  his  father,  but  his  works  have 
some  of  the  delicacy  and  charm,  with  the  light, 
clear,  but  not  brilliant  flesh-tones  characteristic  of 
the  older  man. 

The  picture  here  is  small  in  size,  about  two  feet 
wide  by  two  and  a half  high,  with  figures  two- 
thirds  life-size.  The  Virgin  is  auburn-haired, 
dressed  in  a crimson  robe  and  a light  indigo  blue 
mantle  lined  with  sage  green.  This  falls  from  her 
head,  while  across  her  forehead  is  a thin  white  veil. 
She  is  holding  upright  on  a pedestal  in  front  of 
her  the  baby  Christ,  who  is  reaching  out  a wreath 
to  St.  Catherine,  kneeling  before  them.  At  the 
left  and  back  is  St.  Joseph.  The  distance  is  a land- 


148  IXbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabems 


scape.  The  Virgin’s  face  is  weak  though  rather 
sweet  in  expression,  the  Child  graceful  and  really 
lovely  in  outline.  As  a whole,  the  picture  has  some 
undeniable  charm  in  treatment  and  conception,  but, 
compared  with  the  productions  of  the  Venetians  of 
the  same  time,  it  seems  thin  and  sadly  ineffectual 
in  colour. 

The  canvas  called  Homer  is  the  only  example  of 
Caravaggio  in  the  Academy.  It  represents  the 
aged  bard  standing  facing  three-quarters  to  the  left, 
playing  a violin.  He  is  dressed  in  a rough  great- 
coat of  blue,  the  thick  gray  fur  collar  coming  close 
about  his  neck,  opening  only  to  show  the  kerchief 
tied  under  his  gray  beard.  The  eyes  are  closed, 
the  laurel-crowned  head  lifted,  as  if  listening  to 
his  own  music.  Caravaggio  has  thrown  deep 
shadows  over  and  behind  him.  Only  the  wrinkled 
forehead,  the  sightless  eyes,  the  beard  and  kerchief, 
the  thumb  and  finger  of  the  hand  on  the  strings, 
come  into  full  light.  The  effect  of  the  chiaroscuro 
is  almost  startling.  It  is  as  if  a vision  of  yesterday 
were  for  a moment  swept  out  of  the  misty  shadows 
of  the  past,  into  the  light  of  the  present. 

True  to  his  own  ideal,  Caravaggio  has  not  made 
the  immortal  poet  beautiful.  The  worn,  lined  face 
is  rugged,  rather  than  handsome.  It  is  a real,  a 
living  man  portrayed,  but  a man  in  whose  blind 
face  are  felt  the  concentration  of  passionate  force 


HOMER 
By  Caravaggio 


Sala  Scuole  IDarte  ftaltane 


149 


and  an  indescribable  upliftedness.  Not  less  won- 
derful are  the  hands,  half-lost  in  the  shadow,  but 
showing  the  fine  curves,  the  tense  nerves,  of  the 
hand  of  genius.  The  picture,  above  all,  impresses 
one  as  a portrait.  So  living,  so  actual  is  it  that  it 
seems  as  if  Caravaggio  must  have  drawn  it  from 
the  living  bard  himself.  And,  while  he  has  de- 
parted far  from  the  ideal  type  of  the  ineffable 
Homer,  he  has  succeeded  in  portraying  something 
of  the  inner  power,  the  inspiration,  the  undying 
force  of  a great  creator. 

The  canvas,  though  not  one  of  his  most  cele- 
brated, is  characteristic  enough  to  give  some  just 
idea  of  the  man  who  was  the  chief  master  of  the 
so-called  naturalistic  a school  of  art  in  sharp  hos- 
tility to  that  of  the  eclectics,  especially  as  that 
school  was  represented  by  the  Caracci.  The  prin- 
cipal aim  of  the  naturalisti  was  to-  represent  actual 
nature,  life  as  it  is  rather  than  ideal  conceptions 
of  what  it  might  or  should  be.  This  predilection 
brought  them  at  times  to  gross  exaggeration  of 
gesture,  attitude,  and  expression.  Power,  not 
beauty,  was  their  watchword.  At  their  best,  they 
could  portray  scenes  with  a pathos,  an  intensity, 
a directness  of  appeal,  entirely  impossible  to  the 
tamer  eclectics.  At  their  worst,  they  were  led 
into  coarseness,  vulgarity,  and  melodrama.  Their 
style  was  hardly  suitable  for  religious  subjects,  and 


is°  XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Dentce  Hcabem^ 


some  of  Caravaggio’s  works  were  actually  torn 
down  from  the  altars  they  adorned.  His  famous 
Entombment,  in  the  Vatican,  has  been  said  to  re- 
semble more  nearly  the  funeral  of  a gipsy  chief 
than  that  of  the  Lord  Jesus.  Yet  who  else  has 
with  so  overpowering  convincingness  displayed 
the  grief  of  the  Mother  as  he  in  that  very  scene? 
Wherever  strong  passion  can  be  indicated  or  wild- 
est climax  suggested,  there  Caravaggio  is  at  his 
height.  It  was  in  the  effort  to  achieve  such  ex- 
traordinary effects  that  he  became  the  past  master 
he  was  in  the  treatment  of  chiaroscuro.  His  pier- 
cing lights,  dense  shadows,  and  pitchy  backgrounds 
were  the  most  essential  tools  for  securing  dramatic 
expression.  Exaggerator  as  he  was,  coarse  as  he 
showed  himself  in  innumerable  instances,  Cara- 
vaggio, who  came  at  a time  when  the  light  of  the 
great  Renaissance  was  dying  into  a feeble  flicker, 
proved  himself  a painter  of  virility,  of  intense  pas- 
sion of  ideas,  and,  as  has  been  said,  in  him  was 
seen  something  of  that  “ powerful  nature,  which, 
in  spite  of  all  inferiority,  claims  a certain  kindred 
with  that  of  Michelangelo  himself.” 

His  full  name  was  Michelangelo  Amerighi, 
Caravaggio  being  the  name  of  the  town  which, 
in  1569,  gave  him  birth. 

The  Martyrdom  of  St.  Bartholomew,  in  this 
same  room,  is  the  work  of  a man  strongly  influenced 


Sala  Scuole  Darte  Itaitane  151 

by  Caravaggio,  Jusepe  Ribera,  a Spaniard,  born 
in  1588.  So  long  did  he  live  and  work  in  Italy, 
however,  that  he  has  come  to  be  regarded  as  a 
product  of  the  Italian  rather  than  of  the  Spanish 
school.  In  the  country  of  his  adoption  he  was 
called  Lo  Spagnoletto',  and  many  are  the  stories 
told  of  his  lawlessness  and  his  bitter  enmity  to 
painters  whom  he  feared  might  rival  him.  Ad- 
miring Caravaggio’s  works  extravagantly  as  he  did, 
one  of  his  own  most  noticeable  if  more  or  less 
superficial  attributes  was  the  intensity  of  his  shad- 
ows. In  his  treatment  of  chiaroscuro  he,  too, 
showed  a vivid  appreciation  of  the  dramatic  value 
of  sharply  contrasted  light  and  shade,  and,  though 
this  very  thing  sometimes  made  his  work  smack 
of  the  melodramatic,  in  many  cases  he  reaches  a 
high  plane  of  expression.  His  colouring  is  at 
times  cold  and  forced,  at  others  has  a golden 
brilliancy  of  tone.  Mr.  Ricketts  says  of  him,  that 
“ on  the  whole  one  may  even  be  astonished  that, 
with  the  blackness  of  his  shadows,  the  plastic  over- 
emphasis of  his  scheme  of  relief,  his  pictures  should 
be  so  rich,  or  so  satisfying.  . . . He  speaks  the 
language  of  Caravaggio'  more  freshly  and  with 
greater  sincerity.” 

The  Martyrdom  of  St.  Bartholomew  is  a sub- 
ject he  treated  more  than  once.  In  fact,  he  seemed 
to  have  a special  fondness  for  showing  the  nude 


152  XTbe  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcabems 


figures  of  old  men  drawn  on  the  rack,  thrust  into 
walled-up  rooms,  or  suffering  other  agonies  of 
martyrdom.  Such  pictures  gave  him  a chance  to 
display  his  knowledge  of  the  human  figure  and 
to  employ  to  great  advantage  his  schemes  of  forced 
lighting.  This  one  here  does  not  nearly  equal  the 
great  Bartholomew  in  the  Prado,  but  it  is  a char- 
acteristic example  of  the  horrible  which  Ribera 
loved  to  paint. 

The  figures  are  a little  over  half-length.  The 
aged  saint,  nude,  except  for  a loin-cloth,  is  in  the 
centre,  in  full  face,  brought  squarely  against  a huge 
tree-trunk  behind  him.  His  left  wrist  is  tied  to  a 
stump  of  an  old  branch,  while  an  executioner  at 
his  other  side  is  pulling  on  the  cord  about  his  right 
wrist,  stretching  his  arm  in  the  process  above  his 
head  and  binding  it  to  the  tree.  On  the  right,  the 
second  servant  of  torture  is  slicing  off  the  skin 
and  upper  flesh  of  his  leg,  leaving  the  muscles 
exposed,  under  a rain  of  blood-drops.  Both  ex- 
ecutioners are  about  their  fiendish  task  with  a 
dogged  determination  to  fulfil  their  orders  that 
does  not,  nevertheless,  prevent  the  one  on  the  right, 
at  least,  from  showing  some  real  feeling  of  horror 
at  the  performance. 

The  modelling  and  construction  of  these  two 
figures  are  as  masterly  as  is  the  management  of 
the  light  and  shade  which  throws  all  the  cruel 


Saia  Scuole  tDarie  Italtane 


iS3 


hands  and  arms  into  sharp  light  and  sweeps  into 
obscurity  their  bodies,  here  of  so  much  less  pictorial 
importance.  Bartholomew’s  entire  body  and  head 
are  in  full  brilliance.  The  agony  of  the  eyes  and 
half-open  mouth,  the  shrinking  of  the  muscles  of 
the  torso,  are  wonderfully  expressed,  — every 
stroke  of  Ribera’s  brush  evidently  planned  to  in- 
crease the  horror  of  the  scene.  Nothing  of  the 
dreadful  is  spared.  Apparently,  in  spite  of  his 
long  dwelling  in  Naples,  that  sun-kissed  city,  the 
gloom  of  the  Spanish  nature  never  wholly  lifted 
its  weight  from  Ribera’s  spirit. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


ROOM  II. SALA  DELL*  ASSUNTA 

The  Sala  del  1’  Assunta  might  almost  be  called 
the  Salon  Carre  of  the  Academy,  for  in  it  are 
placed  a number  of  the  greatest  masterpieces  of 
the  Venetian  school. 

Not  the  least  of  those  is  Giovanni  Bellini’s  altar- 
piece,  the  Madonna  of  San  Giobbe,  supposed  to 
have  been  painted  about  1488. 

In  a domed  recess,  whose  ornamentation  is  in 
designs  of  coloured  marbles,  sits  the  Madonna,  on 
a high  throne  overlaid  with  delicate  carving  of 
scroll  and  conventionalized  flower  designs.  She 
holds  the  Child  on  her  knee,  one  hand  appearing 
under  his  left  arm,  the  other  lifted  as  if  in  sur- 
prise or  explanation.  On  the  two  steps  at  the  foot 
of  the  throne-chair  are  three  of  the  most  delight- 
ful putti,  tiny  angelic  musicians,  that  Bellini  ever 
conceived.  Two  are  on  the  lower  step,  the  other 
immediately  above  and  between  them.  On  the 
right  of  the  composition,  within,  or  at  the  edge  of 
the  marble  recess,  are  St.  Sebastian,  St.  Dominick, 

154 


MADONNA  OF  SAN  GIOBBE 

By  Giovanni  Bellini 


IRoont  ll.  — Sala  bell'  Bssunta 


55 


and  St.  Augustine.  Opposite  are  St.  Job,  St. 
Francis,  and  John  the  Baptist. 

One  of  the  first  things  that  may  strike  the  ob- 
server is  the  wonderful  effect  of  space  in  this  pic- 
ture. The  top  of  the  Madonna’s  head  hardly 
reaches  the  centre  of  the  composition,  and  the 
saints  do  not  stand  as  high, as  her  shoulder.  There 
is,  therefore,  a tremendous  space  quite  unfilled  by 
figures,  with  nothing  in  it  but  the  exquisitely  indi- 
cated marble  work  of  the  throne  and  its  chapel. 
Instead  of  seeming  empty  or  badly  filled,  the  sense 
of  air  and  of  distance  in  this  upper  portion  of  the 
scene  adds  immeasurably  if  inexpressibly  to  the 
devotional  quality  of  the  picture  as  a whole.  There 
is  something  about  it  that  suggests  the  benediction 
of  the  Father  over  his  well-beloved. 

Of  all  the  figures  in  this  altar-piece,  the  Madonna 
is  the  least  interesting.  She  has  an  immobility  of 
expression  that  cannot  be  forgotten  because  of  the 
sweetness  of  regard  discernible  in  her  level  eyes. 
St.  Dominick,  in  profile,  with  his  irregular  nose, 
firm,  long-lipped  mouth,  tonsured  head,  and 
scholarly,  refined  hands,  is  a wonderfully  real 
creation.  Sebastian  is  a most  beautiful  nude  fig- 
ure, the  grace  of  his  position  and  smoothness  and 
suppleness  of  his  limbs  suggesting  a Greek  Nar- 
cissus. The  expression  on  his  handsome  face,  with 
the  heavy  curls  that  come  down  on  to  his  shoulders, 


156  Ube  Brt  ot  tbe  IDenice  Bcabem$ 


is  a mixture  of  smiling  irony  and  gay  self-satis- 
faction. He  has,  it  is  true,  nothing  about  him  to 
indicate  either  stamina  or  aptitude  for  the  life  of 
a martyr,  and  as  for  those  arrows  that  are  piercing 
him,  — the  painter  was  considerate  enough  to  his 
beautiful  creation  to  spare  him  more  than  two,  — 
no  one  could  believe  that  such  a face  could  bear 
their  torturing  sharpness  with  so  much  insouciance! 
Almost  as  beautiful,  but  of  far  different  character, 
is  the  St.  Job.  The  domelike  forehead,  the  deep- 
set  eye,  the  lines  about  the  mouth,  all  show  the 
character  of  the  indomitable  saint.  Of  St.  John, 
only  the  head  in  profile  and  one  hand  can  be  seen 
as  he  stands,  back  of  St.  Francis  and  St.  Job,  with 
the  tip  of  his  reed  cross  above  his  youthful  head, 
covered  with  thick,  tight  curls.  St.  Francis,  stand- 
ing in  full  face  in  his  monk’s  garb,  is  a rather 
portly  personage,  showing  his  pierced  hands  with 
a wobegone  expression  spread  over  a rather  com- 
monplace face.  The  three  child-musicians,  at  the 
foot  of  the  throne,  are  lovely  not  only  in  face, 
grouping,  and  position,  but  the  management  of 
their  drapery  is  a triumph  of  art.  The  folds  that 
catch  and  reflect  the  light,  the  way  the  surfaces 
are  broken  by  shadows  cast  by  fold  and  shape  of 
figure  beneath  — this  is  the  very  poetry  of  painted 
drapery.  All  three  little  figures  are  exquisite,  but 
the  one  in  the  centre,  on  the  higher  step,  with  the 


IRoont  1F1C  — Sala  Sell'  Bssunta  157 


big  guitar  coming  across  his  chest  and  up  over  his 
chin,  with  the  big  eyes  peering  out  so  earnestly 
from  under  the  wide  forehead  framed  by  the  soft, 
full  hair,  is  the  most  beautiful  of  all. 

As  a composition,  technically  considered,  the 
picture  is  not  one  of  Bellini’s  greatest  works.  The 
heads  of  the  six  saints  are  all  too  nearly  on  a line, 
and  form  too  regular  right  angles  with  the  Vir- 
gin’s head.  Nevertheless,  the  work  is  a master- 
piece, and  doubly  wonderful  when  it  is  compared 
with  almost  all  of  its  contemporary  Venetian 
painting.  It  has  been  stated,  with  striking  force, 
that  in  it  are  found  all  the  elements  that  later  in 
Giorgione  were  carried  to  such  perfection  of  ex- 
pression. Particularly  does  the  atmospheric  qual- 
ity of  it  show  Bellini  to  have  evolved  a new  and 
greater  phase  in  his  art. 

Very  unlike  his  Ursula  series  is  Carpaccio’s 
Presentation,  hanging  near  the  San  Giobbe  Ma- 
donna. If  not  quite  so  golden  in  colour  as  the 
great  Bellini,  its  brilliance  and  richness  is  far  in 
excess  of  the  rather  monotonously  brown-toned 
Ursula  panels. 

In  a chapel-like  niche  before  an  altar  stand 
Simeon  and  his  two  assistants,  facing  Mary,  who, 
bearing  the  Child,  is  accompanied  by  two  grace- 
ful maiden  attendants.  Below  these  are  seated 


is8  Tlbe  Hrt  of  tbe  IDenice  Hcabem^ 


three  little  musicians,  the  putti  that  Carpaccio,  as 
well  as  Bellini,  loved  to  paint. 

Very  nearly  in  profile  stands  Mary,  her  ample 
drapery  falling  about  her  in  folds,  that,  if  a trifle 
sharp  in  some  of  their  edges,  have  much  grace 
of  line  and  curve.  Her  dress  is  light  crimson,  her 
mantle  blue,  a white  linen  veil  falling  over  the 
back  of  her  head  to  her  shoulders.  The  lines  of 
her  figure,  as  indicated  by  the  fall  of  her  drapery, 
are  noble.  She  has  an  easy,  unforced  pose,  quite  in 
keeping  with  her  calmly  benignant  face,  which  is 
singularly  free  from  all  suggestion  of  pettiness. 
The  babe  in  her  arms  is  one  of  Carpaccio’s  most 
exquisite  creations.  The  modelling  of  the  supple, 
yielding  flesh,  the  delicate  gradations  of  tone,  the 
baby  tenderness  of  gesture  as  he  places  his  tiny 
hand  on  his  mother’s  breast,  the  seraphic  sweetness 
in  his  lovely  little  face,  — everything  is  as  perfect 
in  execution  as  it  was  in  conception,  and  one  feels 
like  agreeing  with  Ruskin  when  he  cries  that  this 
is  the  most  beautiful  baby  Christ  in  all  Venetian 
art. 

Equally  perfect,  in  their  own  way,  are  the  two 
richly  dressed  companions  of  the  Madonna.  The 
one  at  the  left,  carrying  the  offering  of  doves,  is 
in  profile,  the  other,  next  to  Mary,  in  almost  full 
face.  About  them  are  a fragile  bloom  and  a slen- 
derness of  construction  which  seem  to  suggest  the 


PRESENTATION 

By  Carpaccio 


IRoom  AIL  — Sala  Dell'  Bssunta  159 


Florentine  rather  than  Venetian  type  of  woman- 
hood. Never  has  Carpaccio  portrayed  more  per- 
fect feminine  loveliness.  The  grace  of  attitude 
and  figure,  the  pure  contour  of  forehead  and  cheek, 
the  sweetness  of  expression,  make  these  two  maid- 
ens rare  creations  for  even  Carpaccio’s  brush. 

Simeon,  the  High  Priest, ' is  no  less  splendidly 
conceived,  in  benignity  of  expression,  nobleness  of 
head,  and  reverence  of  manner.  His  stately  figure, 
to  be  sure,  is  clad  in  robes  of  the  Church  of  Rome, 
instead  of  those  of  Jewish  ritual,  but  such  anach- 
ronisms, common  to  nearly  all  the  painters  of 
the  Renaissance,  do  not  detract  from  the  ethical, 
spiritual,  or  artistic  value  of  the  picture.  The 
gorgeous  purple  and  gold  brocade  cope  which 
hangs  from  his  shoulders,  the  ends  upheld  by  the 
two  younger  priests,  is  a marvel  of  finest  minia- 
turelike painting.  The  wide  border  of  this  priestly 
garment  shows  especially  exquisite  workmanship, 
with  its  simulation  of  most’ elaborately  embroidered 
scenes  from  the  Old  Testament.  Each  one  of  these 
little  pictures  is  a gem  in  itself. 

With  the  possible  exception  of  the  child  Jesus, 
nothing  in  the  whole  altar-piece,  however,  quite 
equals  in  charm  the  entrancing  little  musicians  on 
the  steps  below  Mary  and  Simeon.  Arrayed  in 
bright,  light-toned  tunics  and  robes,  the  three 
“ celestial  children,”  as  Sir  Charles  Eastlake  called 


160  zhc  Htt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcabem# 


them,  sit  on  the  steps  below  the  impressive  scene 
of  the  Presentation,  each  with  his  musical  instru- 
ment, playing,  it  would  seem,  heaven’s  own  accom- 
paniment to  that  holy  happening.  The  one  on  the 
left  holds  his  flute  to  his  lips,  but  he  has  not  yet 
blown  into  it;  his  eyes  are  gazing  far  into  the 
distance,  as  if  thinking  of  what  to  play.  At  the 
other  end  of  the  lower  step,  the  second  little  one 
sits  holding  his  violin  under  his  cheek,  his  bow 
suspended,  his  eyes  lifted  heavenward,  his  whole 
posture  one  of  intense  listening.  Lovely  as  are 
these  two,  the  one  between  them,  a step  higher,  is 
still  more  captivating.  With  one  leg  thrown  over 
the  other,  his  big  lute  resting  on  it  and  coming  up 
to  his  chin,  the  “ angioletto  ” sits  there  playing 
away  for  dear  life,  his  whole  being  absorbed  in 
his  task.  The  quaint  way  in  which  his  tunic  is 
wrapped  about  his  crossed  legs,  the  tip  of  the  grace- 
ful head,  the  soft  lips  of  the  earnest  mouth,  the 
half-closed  eyes,  the  tiny  baby  fingers  moving  with 
such  exquisite  curve  and  pressure  on  the  strings,  - — 
everything  about  this  mite  of  a musician  adds  to  its 
imperishable  charm.  It  is  one  of  the  few  things 
which,  as  Messrs.  Blashfield  and  Hopkins  say,  have 
delighted  connoisseur,  dilettante,  and  artist  alike,  — 
and,  it  might  be  added,  general  public  as  well. 

Such  dissecting  of  this  wonderful  altar-piece 
can,  after  all,  convey  slight  idea  of  its  intrinsic,  un- 


IRoom  m — Saia  fceir  Bssunta  161 

translatable  beauty.  Its  earnestness,  its  real  piety, 
is  as  great  a part  of  its  charm  as  is  its  compo- 
sitional unity,  its  architectural  majesty,  its  colour 
harmonies,  or  its  beautiful  faces  and  figures. 

The  picture  which  gives  its  name  to  this  room, 
Titian’s  Assumption  of  the  Virgin,  was  ordered,  in 
1516,  for  the  Church  of  the,  Frari,  but  it  was  not 
exhibited  till  1518.  It  is  stated  that  during  its 
final  process  of  completion  some  of  the  friars 
strongly  objected  to  its  acceptance,  complaining 
that  it  was  not  worthy  of  the  painter’s  fame.  But 
when  it  was  finally  uncovered  in  the  great  church, 
it  was  received  with  such  acclaim  that  even  the 
carping  friars  were  convinced  of  its  value. 

Too  much  cannot  be  said  deploring  its  present 
unfortunate  placing.  What  with  its  slight  eleva- 
tion from  the  ground  and  the  flood  of  light  which 
pours  over  it  in  the  gallery,  Titian’s  whole  scheme 
in  construction  and  colouring  is  rendered  worse 
than  useless.  No  man  knew  better  than  he  how 
to  adapt  his  means  to  the  end  in  view.  The  Assunta 
was  to  go  over  a high  altar  in  the  semidarkness  of 
a church.  Thus,  the  colours,  which  the  light  of 
the  Academy  makes  crude  and  overvivid,  were 
there  softened  and  dimmed.  So,  too,  the  lack  of 
anatomical  construction  in  some  of  the  disciples 
about  the  tomb,  a fault  that  has  greatly  excited  the 
ire  of  critics,  would  at  such  a height  and  light  not 


1 62  XTbe  Brt  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabemp 


only  be  indistinguishable,  but  were  made  actually 
necessary  by  the  exigencies  of  the  position.  In 
other  words,  over  the  Frari  altar  the  colours  were 
lowered  in  key,  the  gestures  less  obtrusive,  the 
drawing  thoroughly  adequate.  With  these  facts 
firmly  in  mind,  even  those  who  have  not  the  in- 
stinctive and  involuntary  admiration  for  the  work 
that  its  intrinsic  greatness  must,  it  would  seem, 
always  evoke,  can  more  nearly  appreciate  it  at  its 
true  value. 

In  shape  the  picture  is  a long,  upright  panel 
with  arched  top.  By  the  very  nature  of  the  subject 
the  composition  is  divided  into  three  parts : the 
lower  with  the  apostles,  the  central  portion  hold- 
ing the  Madonna  and  the  myriads  of  angels,  and 
above  the  figure  of  God  the  Father  with  attendant 
seraphs.  Only  a monumental  genius  could  ever 
have  so  arranged  the  light  and  colour  and  lines 
as  to  make  of  these  three  divisions  one  comprehen- 
sive, incontestable  whole.  But  that  is  exactly  what 
Titian  accomplished,  and  even  the  garish  light  of 
the  gallery  cannot  spoil  his  triumph,  though  it  must 
have  been  infinitely  greater  when  the  picture  was 
in  its  proper  environment. 

Filling  the  lower  part  in  the  foreground  are  the 
apostles,  grouped  about  the  open  tomb.  Peter  is 
sitting  in  the  centre,  the  others  standing,  heads  and 
hands  lifted,  bodies  thrust  forward,  all  in  a very 


IRoom  1I1L  — Sala  bell*  Hssunta  163 


passion  of  wonder  and  adoration,  gazing  at  the 
figure  of  their  Lord’s  Mother,  she  who  from  out 
the  tomb  beside  them  is  being  borne  heavenward 
before  their  very  eyes.  Over  this  lower  group 
Titian  has  cast  deep  shadows,  the  effect  of  which 
is  to  send  the  eye  at  once  above  to  the  shining, 
wondrous  light  from  heaven.  The  reflection  of 
this  radiance  streams  over  Mary,  who,  still  not  far 
over  the  disciples’  heads,  is  ever  rising  higher  and 
higher,  carried  upward  on  the  clouds  with  an 
irresistible  force  that,  in  its  turn,  compels  the  up- 
ward gaze  of  the  spectator,  till,  in  the  midst  of 
blinding  glory,  in  the  arch  of  the  picture  is  seen 
the  outstretched  arms  and  beneficent  face  of  the 
Father,  waiting  for  his  well-beloved.  Swarming 
about  Mary,  lifting  the  clouds  on  which  she  stands, 
singing,  playing,  praising,  clasping  one  another  in 
an  ecstasy  of  joy,  are  numberless  baby  angels,  their 
little  figures  in  every  conceivable  graceful  position, 
sweeping  far  up  like  a garland  on  both  sides  of  her 
till  they  have  vanished  in  the  golden  ether  above 
the  Eternal.  On  each  side  of  the  Almighty,  lying 
out  partly  covered  with  his  drapery,  is  an  angel, 
waiting  with  Him  for  the  Madonna.  The  smaller 
one  on  the  left  holds  aloft  a wreath  of  leaves,  the 
one  on  the  right  a golden  crown,  emblems,  perhaps, 
of  the  living  and  eternal  glories  waiting  for  the 
Mother  of  Christ. 


164  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  IDentce  Hcabem^ 


Mary  herself  is  a wonderfully  conceived  figure. 
Her  flight  upwards  is  extraordinarily  indicated. 
Apparently  Titian  has  simply  painted  a woman 
standing  on  the  clouds,  her  red  and  blue  drapery 
blown  by  the  wind  flying  about  her,  her  arms 
raised,  her  face  lifted  heavenward.  Just  such  a 
position  as  many  a painter  has  given  many  a pic- 
ture of  ecstatic  saint  in  prayer.  Yet  with  these 
simplest  means  Titian  has  contrived  to  express  a 
veritable  flight  through  the  ether.  So  marvellously 
does  he  indicate  this  motion  that  even  as  one  looks 
instinctively  the  eye  lifts  to  follow  Mary  skyward. 
Indeed,  perhaps  this  is  the  most  tremendous  im- 
pression which  the  picture  can  make  upon  the  spec- 
tator, this  feeling  of  flight  through  the  air,  this 
overcoming  of  all  the  laws  of  gravitation  by  the 
might  of  far  greater  spiritual  laws;  this  it  is  that, 
more  than  anything  else,  holds  one  spellbound,  wait- 
ing breathlessly  for  the  final  disappearance  of  that 
majestic  ascending  figure. 

Tiziano  Vecelli,  like  most  of  the  school  of  Vene- 
tian painters,  was  not  born  in  the  city  of  the  sea, 
but,  in  1477,  in  Pieve,  a town  of  Cadore,  a hilly, 
rugged  district  in  the  Venetian  Alps.  At  a very 
early  age,  however,  he  was  sent  to  the  capital  to 
learn  painting,  and  his  first  teacher,  it  has  been 
said,  was  Sebastiano  Zuccato,  a mosaicist,  with 
whom  he  stayed  only  a brief  while.  From  him, 


IRoom  lilh  — ©ala  bclV  Bssunta  165 


according  to  certain  authors,  he  went  to  Gentile 
Bellini,  who  soon  objected  to  the  youth’s  rapid  and 
daring  style  of  drawing.  Whether  this  was  the 
cause  or  not,  before  long  he  found  his  way  to 
Giovanni  Bellini,  in  whose  studio  he  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Giorgione  and  Palma  Vecchio.  Plere 
he  laid  the  foundation  of  that  art  which,  for  its 
completeness,  its  unbroken  fulness,  its  extent,  and 
its  quality,  no  Venetian  painter,  no  painter  of  any 
country,  ever  equalled. 

Titian’s  own  family  was  an  old  house  of  some 
prominence  in  Cadore,  and,  from  almost  the  be- 
ginning of  his  career  until  its  end,  his  long  life  was 
largely  spent  in  the  service  of  duke,  prince,  king, 
and  emperor,  and  among  his  friends  were  reckoned 
some  of  the  greatest  intellectual  lights  of  the  six- 
teenth century.  He  lived  in  princely  style,  and  en- 
tertained royally,  and,  from  his  own  as  well  as 
Aretino’s  letters,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  he  was  fond 
of  the  luxuries  of  living,  of  amusements,  of  gaiety, 
of  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  of  music,  of  fair 
women.  Yet  in  his  life  as  well  as  in  his  work 
there  is  no  more  hint  of  excess,  of  debauchery,  than 
there  is  of  asceticism  or  pallid  piety.  Receiving 
from  heaven  for  all  his  life,  as  Vasari  says, 
nothing  but  “ favour  and  felicity,”  Titian’s  only 
trouble  seemed  to  be  in  getting  money  from  his 
noble  and  royal  patrons  for  ordered  work.  So 


166  ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Dentce  Hcabemy 


great  a sovereign  as  Charles  V.  was  always  far 
behind  in  his  payments  to  his  favourite  painter, 
and  prince  and  duke  and  noble  were  continually 
showering  commissions  upon  him,  for  which  they 
often  never  paid.  At  Titian’s  death,  Philip  II.  of 
Spain  owed  for  fourteen  important  pictures  “ and 
many  others  which  I have  forgotten,”  as  Titian 
reminded  the  Spanish  sovereign  in  a note  written 
when  he  was  ninety-seven,  and  again  two  years 
later,  shortly  before  his  death. 

If  he  had  difficulty  in  getting  his  just  dues  in 
money,  he  was  at  least  given  much  honour  and 
many  titles  by  his  great  patrons.  The  stories  of 
Emperor  Charles’s  admiration  for  him  are  well 
known,  such  as  the  one,  for  instance,  telling  how 
the  ruler  of  the  empire  stooped  to  pick  up  the  paint- 
er’s brush,  saying  to  his  astonished  attendants  that 
“ Titian  was  worthy  to  be  served  by  Caesar.”  And 
how,  at  another  time,  he  insisted  upon  having  the 
artist  ride  by  his  side  at  a ceremonial  in  Bologna, 
remarking  to  his  courtiers,  “ I can  make  as  many 
lords  as  I wish,  but  God  only  can  make  a Titian.” 
Other  substantial,  if  not  monetary,  proofs  of  his 
appreciation  were  not  lacking,  for  he  made  Titian 
Count  Palatine,  Count  of  the  Aulic  Council,  of 
the  Lateran  Palace,  and  of  the  Consistory.  The 
man  of  Cadore  was  also  made  Knight  of  the  Golden 
Spur,  — honours  no>  painter  before  had  ever  at- 


IRoorn  1F1L  — 5ala  beir  Bssunta  167 


tained.  So  that,  in  spite  of  some  financial  diffi- 
culties, it  is  no  wonder  Vasari  was  greatly  im- 
pressed with  the  worldly  prosperity  of  the  Vene- 
tian. 

Perhaps  it  is  partly  owing  to  the  absence  of 
Sturm  und  D\rang  in  Titian’s  life  that  his  art  is 
so  untroubled,  so  even  in  its  greatness,  so  equable 
in  its  expression,  so  impressive  without  being  dis- 
quieting, so  grandly  powerful  with  never  a hint  of 
hopelessness  or  despair.  It  is,  perhaps,  the  sanity 
in  his  works  that  is  their  greatest  marvel.  Never 
does  Titian  lose  control  of  himself,  his  subject,  or 
his  material.  Always  he  is  fully  equal  to  the  de- 
mand of  whatever  his  brush  essays.  He  may  not 
show  the  virile  impetuosity  of  Tintoretto;  the 
poetic  insight  of  Giorgione  is,  perhaps,  mostly 
wanting;  the  mystery  and  witchery  of  Leonardo 
are  not  his;  the  subtle  psychology  of  Lotto  does 
not  attract  him;  the  passionate  depths  of  Rem- 
brandt the  Seer,  his  hqart  probably  never  knew. 
And  yet,  his  great  Battle  of  Cadore,  according  to 
all  accounts,  was  as  full  of  fire,  of  dash,  of  riotous 
attack  as  ever  Tintoret  himself  could  have  im- 
agined. Poetry,  subtle  charm,  witchery,  psycho- 
logic intensity,  — are  not  one  or  all  of  these  to  be 
found  in  their  perfection  in  his  Sacred  and  Profane 
Love,  in  his  Worship  of  Venus,  in  his  Madonna  of 
the  Pesaro  Family,  in  his  Man  with  the  Glove,  in 


1 68  Zhc  Brt  of  tbe  Venice  Ecabems 


the  gray-eyed  portrait  in  Florence?  And  what 
depths  are  left  unsounded  in  the  Entombment  of 
the  Louvre  ? 

Titian’s  art  was  like  a glorious  harmony.  He 
struck  full,  ringing  chords  where  his  brethren 
played  but  single-finger  melodies.  The  very  com- 
plexity of  his  achievement  makes  them,  paradox- 
ically, less  remarkable  to  the  ordinary  observer. 
The  greatest  colourist  the  world  has  ever  seen,  — 
that  is  the  praise  universally  accorded  the  Venetian. 
But  he  was  far  greater  than  that  makes  him.  When 
he  chose,  Michelangelo’s  drawing  was  not  more 
adequate;  Raphael’s  composition  more  inevitable; 
Leonardo’s  chiaroscuro  more  telling.  But  through 
it  all,  it  is  the  poise,  the  certainty,  and  the  absolute 
completeness  in  everything  he  did  that  make  his 
achievements  so  unapproachable,  so  mighty.  Titian 
is  all  things  to>  all  men,  but,  as  Ruskin  so  ably  said, 
he  will  never  be  so  popular  as  less  great  men  be- 
cause the  very  presence  of  certain  other  qualities 
will  prevent  the  man  of  one  idea  from  finding  there 
his  own  idea  supreme. 

What  is  generally  considered  Cima’s  greatest 
masterpiece,  the  Virgin  Enthroned  with  Six  Saints, 
is  also  in  this  room.  Under  an  open  portico  with 
Corinthian  columns,  on  a marble  throne,  Mary  is 
seated  in  full  face,  holding  upright  on  her  left 
knee  the  child  Jesus.  She  is  dressed  in  a red  gown 


VIRGIN  ENTHRONED  WITH  SIX  SAINTS 

By  Cima  da  Conegliano 


'Room  if.  — Sala  t>eir  Bssunta  169 


and  blue  mantle  lined  with  yellow.  O’n  the  lowest 
step  of  the  throne  are  two  little  angel  musicians, 
only  less  charming  than  the  Bellini  putti  near  by. 
At  the  left  of  the  throne  are  St.  George  in  armour 
leaning  on  his  lance,  his  left  hand  on  his  sword,  St. 

Nicholas  of  Bari  in  his  churchly  vestments,  carry- 

/ 

ing  on  a book  the  three  purses,  and  St.  Catherine, 
in  rose-coloured  robe  with  green  mantle,  her  palm 
in  her  hand.  At  the  right,  in  the  foreground,  is 
St.  Sebastian,  pierced  by  arrows,  his  hands  bound 
behind  him;  next  is  St.  Anthony,  in  a dark  can- 
vas robe,  leaning  on  a cane,  from  the  handle  of 
which  swings  a little  bell;  and  in  the  background, 
opposite  St.  Catherine,  St.  Lucy,  in  a blue  dress  and 
red  cloak,  her  palm  of  martyrdom  also  in  her  hand. 
The  distance  is  a mountainous  landscape,  character- 
istic of  Lima’s  Friulian  country.  Under  the  arch 
of  the  portico  in  the  sky  are  nine  cherubim,  making 
an  angelic  semicircle  over  the  Madonna’s  head. 

The  colouring  of  this  altar-piece  is  brilliant, 
clear,  and  fresh,  the  composition  dignified,  solid, 
and  well-balanced,  the  figures  of  individual  and 
well-contrasted  types,  and  through  it  all  a feeling 
of  piety  as  unaffected,  if  of  far  less  depth  than  in 
an  altar-piece  by  Giovanni  Bellini.  The  Madonna 
is  a sober,  thoughtful-faced  woman,  the  Child  is 
a chubby  reality,  and  the  two  women  saints  have  a 
placid  if  rather  immobile  beauty.  Sebastian’s 


*7°  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  tDenice  Bcabent# 


nude  body  is  carefully  and  excellently  modelled, 
and  if,  as  in  most  of  Cima’s  works,  there  is  a cer- 
tain dryness  felt  in  the  handling,  there  are,  too, 
much  sincerity  and  acuteness  of  workmanship.  The 
two  putti,  on  the  step  below  the  throne,  with  vio- 
lin and  guitar,  are  the  most  charming  bits  in  the 
whole  picture  and  are  not  unworthy  to  rank  with 
the  two  by  Bellini  in  the  San  Giobbe  Madonna  in 
this  same  room. 

Basaiti’s  panel  of  the  Calling  of  the  Sons  of 
Zebedee,  though  painted  when  Venetian  art  was 
already  showing  promise  of  its  glorious  flowering, 
strikes  a primitive,  archaic  note,  strangely  in  con- 
trast with  the  great  altar-pieces  so  far  considered 
in  this  room. 

Across  the  front  of  the  composition  stretches  a 
huge,  flat  rock  into  the  sea.  Moored  to  it,  in  the  im- 
mediate foreground,  are  two  rowboats,  their  prows 
only  in  the  picture.  These  are  pushed  hard  and  fast 
against  the  rock.  From  the  one  on  the  right  all 
the  sons  of  Zebedee  have  landed  except  the  eldest, 
who  is  just  about  to  step  down  from  the  bow  seat. 
In  front  of  him  is  the  youngest,  walking  forward 
with  his  left  hand  extended,  his  right  holding  his 
cloak  at  his  neck.  The  second  son  is  already  kneel- 
ing at  Jesus’  feet.  The  Master  stands  with  a dis- 
ciple on  each  side,  almost  in  profile,  facing  the  sons, 
with  his  hand  lifted  in  blessing.  Between  the  two 


IRoorn  11K  — Sala  fceil'  Hssunta  17* 

boats  in  front,  a board  projects  out  from  the  rock, 
and  on  it  sits  a small  boy,  nearly  back  to,  watch- 
ing the  scene.  Peering  out  from  the  other  side 
of  the  rock  are  the  heads  of  a Turk  and  another 
gray-bearded  man.  Back  of  them,  at  the  left,  is  a 
tall  rock  reaching  up  to  the  top  of  the  picture,  and 
at  its  base  are  hermits  and  shepherds  with  sheep, 
while  along  its  side  are  seen  entrances  to  the  her- 
mits’ caves.  In  the  middle  distance  curiously 
shaped  boats  are  sailing  on  the  sea,  and  back  of  this 
stretch  of  water  rise  castellated  mountains,  with 
towers,  bridges,  and  fortifications  at  their  base. 
These  hills  are  snow-capped,  drawn  with  a hard  in- 
sistence upon  outline  and  detail,  — - the  farthest 
houses  on  their  slopes  showing  the  windows  care- 
fuly  indicated,  and  the  leaves  of  the  trees  can  al- 
most be  counted.  This  ignoring  of  the  laws  of 
atmospheric  perspective  is  characteristic  of  Basaiti, 
especially  in  his  earlier  works.  The  figures  are 
pretty  well  drawn  and  show  considerable  anima- 
tion and  expression. 

With  the  Tintorettos  in  this  room  comes  an  en- 
tirely different  art,  one  phase  of  which  art,  at 
least,  is  shown  in  these  works  at  its  very  highest 
manifestation.  Tintoretto  has  been  called  a great 
poet,  a great  thinker,  a great  illustrator,  and  a 
great  painter.  These  three  canvases  show  him  pre- 
eminently as  the  painter.  They  each  tell  a story, 


i72  XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcafcemp 


for  Tintoretto’s  slightest  composition  must  always 
be  dramatic;  in  each  there  is  poetry,  in  each  more 
original  thought  than  a dozen  lesser  men  would 
have  used  for  twice  the  number  of  pictures.  But 
above  everything  else  they  rank  as  paintings , pure 
and  simple.  It  is  the  glory  of  their  golden  tone, 
the  depth  and  warmth  of  their  shadows,  and  the 
superb  massing  of  the  light  and  shade  that  place 
them  among  the  greatest  works  of  the  Italian 
Renaissance. 

Of  the  three  the  Miracle  of  St.  Mark  has  the 
widest  fame.  Most  critics  agree  in  calling  it  Tin- 
toretto’s masterpiece,  though  others  have  not  placed 
it  on  a level  with  his  Bacchus  and  Ariadne,  the 
Crucifixion,  or  the  Martyrdom  of  St.  Agnes.  But 
whether  Tintoretto’s  greatest  achievement  or  not, 
it  is  beyond  peradventure  one  of  the  greatest  pic- 
tures ever  painted.  In  it  are  a power,  a rhythm, 
a passion  of  movement,  and  a golden  brilliance 
of  colour  that  have  never  been  surpassed.  No 
words  can  describe  the  irresistible,  downward  rush 
of  that  amazing  figure  in  mid-air,  or  half-express 
the  wonder  of  the  lighting.  Compared  with  the 
spontaneity  of  its  chiaroscuro,  most  of  Leonardo’s 
schemes  of  light  and  shade  seem  measured,  cold,  and 
academic;  and  neither  Titian  nor  Correggio  could 
have  made  the  flesh  of  that  prostrate  slave  of  more 
golden  warmth  of  tone  or  modelled  it  with  firmer, 


IRoom  n* — Sala  bell'  Bssunta 


73 


simpler  brush.  Only  Tintoretto  himself,  again, 
could  have  imagined  that  wonder-struck  crowd,  or, 
having  imagined,  could  so  have  thrown  it  upon  the 
canvas. 

The  story  which  the  picture  illustrates  tells  of  a 
Christian  slave,  who,  worshipping  against  his 
pagan  master’s  orders  at  the  shrine  of  St.  Mark, 
was  condemned  to  torture.  Bound  and  naked,  he 
was  taken  to  the  public  square,  but  before  the  tor- 
tures could  be  inflicted  St.  Mark  himself  appeared 
from  the  heavens,  the  bonds  were  miraculously 
loosened,  the  instruments  of  torture  broken.  It  is 
this  moment  that  Tintoretto  chose  for  representa- 
tion. 

On  the  ground,  in  a tremendously  foreshortened 
position  with  his  head  to  the  spectator,  lies  the 
naked  slave,  the  cords  and  bands  snapped  in  pieces 
about  him,  his  own  astonishment  apparently  pre- 
venting him  from  moving.  At  his  head,  kneeling 
over  him  with  broken  stave  in  his  hand,  still  held 
aloft  as  if  to  drive  the  cruel  barb  into  the  slave’s 
eyes,  is  one  of  the  executioners.  Standing  back  to, 
on  the  other  side  is  a second  torturer.  He  is  in 
Turkish  costume,  and  the  twist  of  his  body,  as 
he  shows  the  split  hammer  to  the  judge,  who  is  on 
a high  seat  at  the  right,  is  a magnificent  rendering 
of  tense  action.  The  crowd  of  soldiers,  citizens, 
Turks,  and  Christians  makes  a semicircle  about  the 


174  XTbe  Brt  ot  tbe  tDentce  Bcafcems 


slave,  and  dread,  wonder,  and  amazement  are  mar- 
vellously delineated  in  pose,  movement,  and  expres- 
sion. Curiously  enough,  not  one  among  them  seems 
to  see  anything  but  the  slave  with  his  miraculously 
freed  bonds.  St.  Mark  himself,  who  has  fallen 
headlong  from  the  sky,  and  who  is  at  that  instant 
poised  directly  over  their  heads,  is  wholly  un- 
noticed, invisible  evidently,  to  the  pagans,  obscured 
by  the  blinding  light  of  the  ether  that  surrounds 
him.  This  light  streams  out  in  rays,  striking 
heads,  arms,  or  shoulders  of  the  gaping  crowd, 
and  drenching  the  whole  upper  part  of  the  slave’s 
body  with  its  golden  tone.  This  glow  of  sun- 
lighted  flesh  is  all  the  more  extraordinary  in  its 
effect  because  of  the  warm,  luminous  shadows 
which  are  flung  across  the  thighs  and  about  the 
arms.  One  scarcely  knows  which  is  more  splendid 
or  alluring,  the  brilliance  of  reflected  ray  on  mod- 
elled flesh,  or  the  translucent  depth  of  those  shield- 
ing shades.  Not  less  remarkable,  both  in  lighting 
and  construction,  is  St.  Mark  himself.  Michel- 
angelo never  put  a figure  into  a more  incredibly 
difficult  foreshortened  position  nor  constructed  it 
with  so  little  exaggeration  of  detail  or  movement. 
The  solidity  of  the  figure  is  perhaps  its  one  anachro- 
nism. He  is  falling  with  the  utmost  weight  of  liv- 
ing flesh  and  bones.  Nothing,  apparently,  can  pre- 
vent his  striking  the  heads  of  the  bending  spectators. 


MIRACLE  OF  ST.  MARK 
By  Tintoretto 


IRoorn  HIL-Saia  bell'  Hssunta  17s 


And  if  he  does  strike,  it  will  be  with  the  driven 
force  of  a mighty  figure  thrown  through  illimitable 
space,  crashing  to  splinters  any  obstacle  in  its  path. 
In  other  words,  he  is  not  poised  above  this  group: 
there  is  nothing  to  indicate  a sense  of  floating  in 
mid-air.  He  is  actually  coming  down  with  the 
might  and  fury  of  a thunderbolt,  with  nothing  to 
stop  his  headlong  career.  His  head,  one  arm,  and 
most  of  his  body  are  in  the  same  deep  tones  of 
shadow  that  rest  across  the  slave.  Only  his  warn- 
ing left  arm,  his  legs  from  the  knee  down,  and  his 
flying  robe  that  swirls  about  him  have  caught  the 
brilliant  glow  that  fills  the  heavens  and  sweeps 
over  the  square. 

Taken  altogether,  the  thing  that  first  holds  one 
breathless  in  looking  at  this  astonishing  compo- 
sition is  also'  what  affects  one  longest,  — the  golden 
tone  and  the  iridescent  splendour  of  its  light.  It 
has  the  warmth  of  a tropical  noon,  the  intensity 
of  the  unclouded  sun,  and  yet  the  softness,  the 
caressing  tenderness  of  midday  shining  through 
the  stained  glass  of  a Gothic  window. 

In  the  other  two*  smaller  Tintorets  here,  there 
is  little  of  the  rich,  gemlike  colour  made  by  the 
gleaming  silks  and  brocades  and  gay  turbans  of 
the  crowd  in  the  St.  Mark.  In  fact,  the  Death  of 
Abel  and  the  Adam  and  Eve  have  been  disparaged 
by  critics  because  of  the  monochromatic  colour 


176  TTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Venice  Hcabem^ 


even  of  their  flesh-tones.  The  shadows  are  called 
too1  blackish  brown,  the  lights  too  uniform  in  their 
gray  creams.  Compared  with  some  of  the  greatest 
Titians,  or  with  the  most  brilliant  Palma  Vecchios, 
or  Bonifazios,  or  with  many  Tintorettos,  this  criti- 
cism will  hold  true.  Yet  it  is  probably  the  last  thing 
that  will  occur  to  one  seeing  them  for  the  first  time. 
To  such  the  marvellous  chiaroscuro,  with  its 
golden  light  and  its  warmth  of  luminous  shadow, 
seems  no  more  lacking  in  colour  than  it  does  in  the 
wonder  of  its  dramatic  quality.  Similarly,  it  could 
be  said,  it  is  only  by  direct  comparison  with  a pic- 
ture by  Monet  of  the  same  subject  that  the  beauty 
of  one  of  Whistler’s  Nocturnes  of  the  Houses  of 
Parliament  is  seen  to  rest  rather  in  its  tonal  than 
colour  harmonies.  Yet,  without  such  direct  com- 
parison, who*  could  call  those  mysterious,  haunting, 
blue-toned  poems  of  Whistler,  with  their  exquisite 
gradations  of  silver,  blue,  and  gray,  lacking  in  col- 
our? Thus  it  is  with  the  Adam  and  Eve  and  the 
Death  of  Abel.  So'  poignant  are  they  in  expression, 
so  telling  in  their  superbly  balanced  masses  of  light 
and  shade,  so  dramatic  in  their  rendering,  and, 
finally,  so  luminous  in  their  tone  that  only  the 
sternest  critic  is  likely  to  see  any  deficiency  in  colour. 

The  Death  of  Abel  shows  to  its  utmost  Tin- 
toretto’s power  of  expressing  intense  and  instan- 
taneous action.  A mass  of  trees  with  deep,  clus- 


DEATH  OF  ABEL 
By  Tintoretto 


IRoom  If.—  Sala  fcelP  Hssunta  177 


tered  shadows  makes  the  background  for  the  two 
struggling  figures.  In  front,  thrown  evidently  with 
great  suddenness,  is  Abel,  back  to,  feet  and  arms 
wildly  striking  and  clutching  ground  and  air  in  his 
attempt  to  save  himself.  Over  him  kneels  Cain, 
one  hand  seizing  his  brother’s  neck,  the  other  raised 
above  with  the  poignard  ready  for  the  fatal  plunge. 
His  figure,  except  for  the  heaving  muscles  of  the 
mighty  shoulders,  is  mostly  submerged  in  the  dark 
shadows  that  lurk  beneath  the  trees.  Abel’s  body 
is  pushed  farther  out  into  the  light,  the  terror  and 
fright  indicated  by  his  twisted,  doubled-up  figure, 
which  gleams  palely  against  the  depth  of  gloom. 
The  concentrated  passion  of  those  murderous  arms 
above  him,  the  tightness  of  the  clench  on  his  neck 
and  about  the  hilt  of  the  poignard,  the  spring  and 
pressure  of  the  knee  under  his  chest,  the  whole 
tigerlike  lurch  of  that  powerful  frame,  all  this  is 
expressed  as  no  other,  unless  it  might  be  Michel- 
angelo, could  express  it.  And  Tintoretto  has 
achieved  it  without  the  sacrifice  of  proportion  so 
common  with  the  Florentine. 

An  opening  on  each  side  of  the  two  trees,  at  the 
back,  gives  a glimpse  of  distant  landscape  with 
threatening  sky.  The  whole  scene  is  one  of 
dread  crime,  heightened  in  its  effect  by  the  beautiful 
bodies  of  the  two  brothers,  with  every  movement, 
every  line,  made  more  appallingly  suggestive  by 


178  Ube  art  of  tbc  Wentce  Hcabemg 

the  wonderfully  dramatic  massing  of  the  shad- 
ows. 

If  this  First  Murder  is  one  of  Tintoretto’s  most 
famous  tragedies,  Adam  and  Eve,  near  by,  must 
rank  as  one  of  his  loveliest  idyls.  For  though  the 
subject  is  that  of  the  world’s  fall  from  grace,  and 
though  in  the  distance  the  first  unhappy  two  are 
seen  driven  from  Paradise,  there  is  over  the 
composition  the  radiant  softness  and  warm  glow  of 
a tender  summer  day,  and  the  two>  sitting  there 
might  easily  be  lovers  from  a Grecian  myth. 

At  the  left,  sitting  on  a low  wall,  back  to'  the 
spectator,  resting  partly  on  his  left  arm,  is  Adam, 
brilliant  light  sweeping  over  his  back  and  arm 
and  lower  right  leg,  a rich,  luminous  shadow 
thrown  over  the  rest  of  his  body.  Facing  him, 
her  left  arm  "wound  about  the  tree-trunk  between, 
is  Eve,  holding  out  to  her  mate  the  forbidden  fruit. 
She  is  leaning  against  the  tree,  the  lines  and  posi- 
tion of  her  body  answering  his,  the  light  striking 
her  squarely  and  powerfully.  About  them  are  the 
trees  of  the  garden,  and  in  the  distance  a view  of 
a valley  at  the  foot  of  the  hills.  Into  this  outer 
wilderness  the  two  are  again  seen  fleeing,  pursued 
by  a cloud  of  light  in  which  is  the  avenging  angel 
of  the  Lord.  But,  as  has  been  said,  this  scene  takes 
place  so  far  in  the  distance  that  it  can  scarcely  be 
felt  as  a disturbing  influence. 


IRoom  AIL—  Sala  bell'  Hssunta  179 


Over  the  two  in  front  is  the  glow  of  perfect 
health  and  a tranquil  joy  that  breathes  a dolce  far 
niente  only  the  dwellers  of  the  South  can  really 
know.  Eve  is  far  less  beautiful  than  her  lord  and 
master.  There  is  almost  a Dutch  quaintness  and 
homeliness  in  her  round  face  with  its  big  eyes  and 
pouting  lips,  and  the  lines  of  her  figure  are  too 
square  to  be  the  ideal  for  future  races.  What  she 
lacks  in  personal  charm  Adam  has  in  a superlative 
degree.  As  one  looks  at  that  firm,  rounded,  supple 
figure,  almost  it  seems  as  if  never  was  man  so 
painted  before.  The  spring  of  the  curving  outline, 
the  simplicity  of  the  modelling  where  one  tone 
slips  imperceptibly  into  another,  the  splendid  firm- 
ness in  the  manipulation  of  the  planes,  the  pearly 
warmth  of  the  flesh,  the  luminous  quality  of  the 
shadow,  the  easy  grace,  strength,  and  poise  of  the 
whole  figure,  all  these  make  this  first  man  one  of 
the  most  splendid  creations  of  any  art. 

Of  the  four  great  Venetian  painters,  Giorgione, 
Titian,  Veronese,  Tintoretto-,  the  last  is  the  only 
one  who  was  actually  born  in  Venice.  He  was  not 
only  born  there,  but  he  scarcely  ever  left  his  loved 
city  except  for  very  short  periods,  and  then  he 
never  got  far  away  from  the  lagoons.  Authorities 
differ  as  to  the  date  of  his  birth,  some  placing  it 
as  early  as  1512,  others  — Morelli,  Berenson,  and 
most  of  the  recent  writers  — putting  it  as  late  as 


l8°  Uhc  Hrt  ot  tbe  IDentce  Bcabemp 


1518.  His  death  is  universally  agreed  to  as  oc- 
curring in  1594.  Jacopo  Robusti  was  called  Tin- 
toretto simply  because  his  father  happened  to  be 
a dyer,  and  the  nickname  given  him  as  a boy,  the 
“ little  dyer,”  stuck  to  him  through  life  and  is  the 
one  by  which  he  is  best  known  to  posterity. 

Nearly  all  the  greatest  painters  of  the  Renais- 
sance left  behind  them  a truly  amazing  amount  of 
work.  Something  there  was  in  that  regenerative 
time  that  made  it  possible  for  men  to  begin  work 
earlier,  to  keep  at  it  longer,  and  to  accomplish  more 
than  modern  days  and  life  seem  to  make  possible. 
But  if  Raphael  and  Michelangelo'  and  Titian  are, 
compared  with  the  most  industrious  of  moderns, 
veritable  wonder-workers,  Tintoretto  stands  out  as 
the  wizard  of  wizards.  He  covered  yards  of  can- 
vas where  they  toiled  over  feet,  producing  in  days 
what  they  could  not  finish  in  months.  It  is  on 
record  that  in  two*  months  he  was  to  paint  two 
enormous  wall  decorations  and  seven  portraits,  and 
it  is  easy  to  believe  that  that  was  no’  unusual 
amount  for  his  tireless  hand.  There  was  no  end 
to  his  capacity  for  production  just  as  there  was 
no  end  either  to  his  fertility  of  imagination  or  to 
his  demand  for  work.  No  man  who  ever  lived, 
one  believes,  began  to  have  such  an  insatiable 
hunger  for  the  chance  to  labour.  He  never  cared, 
apparently,  whether  his  work  was  paid  for  or  not, 


IRoom  11L  — Sala  Dell'  Basunta  181 


he  only  asked  to  be  allowed  an  opportunity  to  cover 
all  the  vacant  wall-spaces  in  Venice  with  the  works 
of  his  hand  and  brain!  The  stories  of  how  he 
circumvented  friar  and  council  just  to  get  a chance 
to  present  them,  gratis , with  hundreds  of  feet  of 
marvellous  painting  are  both  amusing  and  pa- 
thetic. Money,  friendship  with  the  great  and 
mighty,  society  with  the  high  or  low,  he  cared 
nothing  for.  His  one  love  outside  his  art  seems 
to  have  been  for  his  gifted  daughter  Marietta,  and 
stories  would  indicate  that  he  had  a tolerant  fond- 
ness for  his  wife.  But  the  gaieties  and  luxuries  of 
such  a life  as  Titian’s  he  neither  knew  nor  would 
have.  From  the  time  when,  a mere  boy,  he  hung 
up  his  double  motto  of  “ the  drawing  of  Michel- 
angelo and  the  colour  of  Titian,”  his  idea  of  happi- 
ness was  held  in  the  one  word,  — work.  If  genius 
is  only  another  term  for  hard  work,  then  Tin- 
toretto was  the  greatest  genius  that  ever  lived. 
And  it  is  probably  true,  at  least,  that  no  man  of 
so  great  genius  ever  worked  so  unremittingly  for 
so  many  years.  Certainly  no  one  ever  began  to 
work  so  rapidly. 

While  the  best  modern  criticism  does  not  put 
Tintoretto  upon  the  high  peak  so  enthusiastically 
placed  under  him  by  Ruskin,  he  is  granted  a power 
of  poetic  conception,  a fervour  of  passion,  an  ideal- 
ity, and  a virile  force  that  no  other  painter  of  Italy 


182  zbc  Hrt  of  tbe  IPenice  Hcabemp 


ever  quite  equalled.  His  best  works,  too,  are  not 
surpassed  by  the  greatest,  and  in  them  is  nearly 
always  an  imaginative  height  that  no  other  has 
quite  reached,  unless  it  be  Michelangelo;  and,  as 
has  been  said  many  times  by  others  as  well  as 
Ruskin,  he  was  seldom  guilty  of  Michelangelo’s 
malformations.  He  was  the  most  vigorous,  most 
telling,  most  forceful  in  drawing  of  all  the  Vene- 
tians. When  he  chose  he  was  a great  colourist,  but 
much  of  the  time  it  is  apparent  that  the  very  fury 
of  his  desire  to'  create  made  him  careless  as  to  his 
pigments;  the  dark,  ugly,  cold  canvases  that  fill 
much  of  the  walls  of  S.  Rocco  are  witness  to  this. 
He  was  by  far  the  greatest  master  of  composition 
of  all  the  Venetians,  and  no  one  approached  him 
in  that  school  in  his  marvellous  use  and  under- 
standing of  chiaroscuro.  As  has  been  well  said, 
light  to  him  “ is  the  first  and  most  powerful  of 
dramatic  accessories;  he  makes  the  light  an  actor 
in  his  vast  compositions.”  And  it  is  true  that  no 
one  else  saw  the  dramatic  value  of  light  and  shade 
as  he  saw  it.  The  mere  spotting  of  the  light  and 
shade  in  many  of  his  works  is  enough  in  itself  to 
prove  the  greatness  of  his  power.  Called  in  his 
day  “ II  Furioso,”  now,  after  studying  him  in 
II  Redentore,  in  San  Rocco,  in  Santa  Maria  dell’ 
Orto,  in  the  Ducal  Palace,  in  the  Academy,  it  is 
still  the  title  that  lingers  longest  in  mind. 


IRoom  fir*- gala  bell*  Bssunta  183 


Mr.  Symonds  says  of  him  that  “ it  is  not  only  in 
the  reign  of  the  vast,  tempestuous,  and  tragic  that 
Tintoretto  finds  himself  at  home.  He  is  equal  to 
every  task  that  can  be  imposed  upon  the  imagina- 
tion. Provided  only  that  the  spiritual  fount  be 
stirred,  the  jet  of  living  water  gushes  forth,  pure, 
inexhaustible  and  limpid.  . . . Tintoretto1  has 
proved  beyond  all  question  that  the  fiery  genius  of 
titanic  artists  can  pierce  and  irradiate  the  placid 
and  the  tender  secrets  of  the  soul  with  more  con- 
summate mastery  than  falls  to-  the  lot  of  those  who 
make  tranquillity  their  special  province.” 

The  eclecticism  of  the  goddess  art  is  never  more 
striking  than  when  one  is  comparing  the  works  of 
different  geniuses.  No  more  mere  mortal  may  ever 
say  that  such  and  such  alone  is  true  art.  For  no 
sooner  are  rules  laid  down  than  forth  from  the 
very  heart  of  beauty  itself,  it  seems,  springs  some 
one  great  enough  to  defy  all  rules,  to  override  all 
conventions ; and  what  one  day  condemns,  an- 
other, with  wider  vision,  proclaims  the  ineffable 
perfection.  He  is  the  true  appreciator  and  also 
the  true  critic  who  can  understand  the  varying 
points  of  view  of  differing  climes,  of  differing 
times,  and  of  differing  minds.  It  is  a position  as 
difficult  to  attain  as  for  a rigid  sectarianist  to  see 
godliness  in  any  but  his  own  special  division  of  the 
Father’s  fold ! It  is  a position,  however,  that  must 


184  flbe  Hrt  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabemg 


be  taken  even  in  considering  the  works  of  the  great- 
est men  of  the  Venetian  Renaissance.  No  two  are 
alike,  or  have  the  same  thing  to  say.  And  it  was 
possible,  with  the  same  training,  in  the  same  sur- 
roundings, under  the  same  influences,  for  two  men 
as  different  as  Tintoretto  and  Veronese  to  live,  and 
to  express,  each  one,  his  own  art  in  his  own  way. 
It  is  only  necessary  to  compare  the  works  of  each 
in  this  very  room  to  see  how  radically  they  differed ; 
and  yet,  who,  unless  he  have  the  dogmatic  one- 
sidedness of  a Ruskin,  will  place  one  among  the 
gods  of  art  and  the  other  far  down  among  the  mere 
manipulators  of  paint?  That  Venice,  at  least,  knew 
enough  to  appreciate  both  her  sons  is  proved  by  the 
esteem  in  which  both  Veronese  and  Tintoretto 
were  held.  Venice,  as  a city,  in  fact,  was  larger- 
minded,  it  appears,  than  one  of  her  greatest  artists. 
For,  according  to  stories,  Titian,  while  ignoring 
if  not  maligning  the  fiery  genius  of  Robusti,  took 
the  younger  Veronese  under  his  wing  and  urged 
his  works  upon  the  city  fathers.  Whether  Titian’s 
reported  antipathy  to  Tintoretto  has  any  basis  in 
it  in  fact  or  not,  it  is  evident  from  the  two  men’s 
works  that  he  and  Veronese  had  more  in  common 
than  he  and  Tintoretto.  It  is  easy  to'  understand 
that  the  untrammelled  ardour  of  a nature  like 
Jacopo  Robusti ’s  might  actually  have  irritated  the 
calmer,  perhaps  saner,  mind  of  Titian,  whereas 


IRoom  if,  — Sala  &elP  Bssunta  185 


the  serene  joyousness  of  the  untroubled  heart  of 
Veronese  would  have  seemed  to  him  the  much 
fitter  accompaniment  of  true  genius.  To-day, 
though  each  man  has  his  own  particular  admirers, 
the  art  of  both  has  received  its  true  meed  of 
praise. 

Veronese,  or  Paolo  Cagliari,  his  real  name,  was 
born  in  Verona  in  1528,  and  died  in  Venice  in 
1588.  Though,  like  most  of  the  Venetian  school, 
he  was  not  a native  of  Venice,  — came  there  indeed 
not  till  he  already  had  attained  reputation  as  a 
painter  in  his  own  town,  — yet  no  other  is  so 
wholly  Venetian,  or  so  faithfully  and  brilliantly 
depicts  the  life  of  the  Venice  of  his  day.  If  no  con- 
temporary records,  no  histories,  existed  describing 
the  men  and  women,  the  customs  and  the  manners, 
of  late  sixteenth-century  life  in  this  city  of  the 
sea,  Veronese’s  canvases  would  tell  us  unmistak- 
ably what  words  after  all  can  never  wholly  explain. 
In  those  great  light-filled  compositions  of  his  live 
again  the  nobles,  the  merchants,  the  soldiers,  the 
sailors,  the  courtly  matron,  the  grande  dame , the 
courtesan,  the  Moors,  the  Orientals,  the  servants, 
the  clowns,  the  very  dogs  and  cats  and  monkeys 
of  Venice.  They  are  of  the  Venice  of  Doge  and 
Council,  of  fete  and  gala  days,  of  stately  marble 
halls  and  audience-chambers,  of  sunshine  and 
gleaming  sea,  the  city  of  opulence,  of  gaiety,  of 


186  zbc  Hvt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcabems 


frank  delight  in  the  joys  of  the  senses;  the  city 
that  reverenced  the  material  rather  than  the  spirit- 
ual, and  made  the  art  of  living  a continued  feast 
without  satiety,  an  unending  pageant  where  the 
actors  are  never  weary  and  where  the  tinsel  never 
loses  its  brave  glitter.  Such  was  Venice  as  Paolo 
saw  her,  such  she  is  shown  in  his  transcriptions. 
For  almost  literal  transcriptions  these  uncounted 
yards  of  painted  canvas  most  certainly  are. 

Contrary  to  much  that  has  been  written,  it  is  in 
his  portraits  and  his  single-figure  pictures  that 
Titian  is  so  preeminent.  Tintoretto',  though  cover- 
ing immense  spaces  with  unexampled  rapidity,  is 
not  at  his  best  in  these, huge  affairs,  Mr.  Ruskin 
and  some  others  disagreeing,  notwithstanding ! 
But  Veronese  is  never  so  fully  himself,  never  so 
easily,  so  without  apparent  effort,  at  his  highest, 
as  in  his  most  tremendous  compositions.  This,  too, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  in  the  rare  portrait  by  him 
he  shows  a breadth  of  view,  a largeness  of  treat- 
ment and  a solidity  of  handling  that  make  these 
few  examples  rank  with  some  of  the  greatest  by 
Titian.  But  in  general  it  is  not  too  extremely 
stated  to'  say  that  the  bigger  the  canvas,  the  fuller 
it  is  of  light,  of  atmosphere,  of  that  plein  air  that 
envelops  and  surrounds  Veronese’s  figures  as  those 
of  almost  no’  other  painter  of  the  Renaissance. 

He  has  been  called  the  greatest  decorator  of  his 


IRoom  fllh  — Sala  fceir  Bssunta  187 


age.  It  is  at  least  certain  that  no  other  Venetian 
ever  began  to  approach  him  in  this  field.  But  he 
was  vastly  more.  He  was  a consummate  master 
of  composition,  and  he  was  a colourist  whose  truth- 
fulness was  never  tainted  by  overlove  for  the  allur- 
ing mysteries  of  absorbing  shadows.  Indeed,  as 
recent  critics  have  pointed  out,  he  used  shadows 
very  sparingly,  painting  in  with  a flatness  that, 
nevertheless,  with  him  is  not  thinness,  that  does 
not  ever  hint  of  a lack  of  roundness.  In  no  one’s 
pictures  is  it  more  possible  to  “ walk  all  around  ” 
the  figures. 

As  a rule,  Veronese  contented  himself  with  paint- 
ing the  outside  of  life.  Occasionally,  as  in  one  or 
two  portraits,  in  the  Crucifixion  at  the  Louvre  and 
here  and  there  in  other  pictures,  he  shows  that 
when  he  chose  he,  too',  could  feel  and  express  the 
depths  beneath  the  smiling  surface.  But  his  was 
a nature  that  basked  in  the  sunshine,  and  he  shows 
it  in  his  pictures,  which  have  a gayness,  a frank 
pleasure  in  living,  and  an  evident  acceptance  of 
things  as  they  are,  — - as  being  after  all  the  best 
there  may  be.  They  are  the  very  qualities  that 
make  the  best  stock  in  trade  for  a painter,  and,  as 
M.  Charles  Blanc  says,  “ Veronese  is  neither  a 
thinker,  an  historian,  nor  a moralist;  he  is  simply 
and  only  a painter,  but  he  is  a great  painter.”  It 
is  probably  because  of  their  realization  of  his  ex- 


i88  ube  Hrt  of  tbe  IDenice  Hcabems 


traordinary  gifts  as  a painter  that  it  is  men  of  his 
own  profession  who  have  most  fully  appreciated 
him.  For  England  is  not  alone  in  her  popular 
opinion  that  the  more  story  a picture  tells,  that 
much  the  greater  it  is. 

Of  all  the  painters  of  all  time  Veronese  shows 
the  least  effort  in  his  work.  Tintoretto  painted 
even  more  rapidly,  — but  it  was  with  a furiousness 
that,  as  one  looks,  actually  wearies  by  its  very 
haste.  Rubens,  too,  has  such  a blare,  as  it  were, 
about  his  work,  that,  though  you  admire,  it  is 
breathlessly,  with  a staggered  wonder  that  always 
leaves  you  conscious  of  the  enormous  amount  of 
effort  the  works  required.  With  Veronese  there  is 
never  a hint  of  fatigue.  It  is  impossible  to  wonder 
about  the  hours  the  work  cost.  They  are  so  free 
from  any  taint  of  attempt,  so  simple  and  sponta- 
neous, that  you  are  content  to  believe  the  Venetian 
must  have  brushed  them  off  while  waiting  in  a 
comfortable  armchair  for  tea!  No  blazoning  of 
attainments,  no'  rushing  torrent  that  overwhelms 
with  its  power,  no  fanfare  of  technical  tricks,  or 
posings,  here.  All  is  as  quietly  serene,  as  easily 
accomplished  as  if  painting  a Marriage  at  Cana  or 
Feast  in  the  House  of  Levi  were  as  normal  and 
usual  a thing  as  eating  or  breathing! 

W.  M.  Rossetti  says  of  him,  that  “ Paolo  Vero- 
nese is  preeminently  a painter  working  pictorially, 


IRoom  irir*  — Sala  bell'  Bssunta  189 


and  in  no  wise  amenable  to  a literary  or  rationaliz- 
ing standard ; you  can  neither  exhibit  nor  vindicate 
his  scenic  apparatus  by  any  transcriptions  into 
words.  He  enjoys  a sight  much  as  Ariosto  en- 
joys a story,  and  displays  it  in  form  and  colour 
with  a zest  like  that  of  Ariosto  for  language  and 
verse.” 

Discriminating  are  the  words,  too,  of  Messrs. 
Blashfield  and  Hopkins:  “Veronese  is  the  best 
all-round  draughtsman  among  the  Venetians  of  the 
sixteenth  century ; his  bodies  and  faces  have  a 
constructive  soundness  rarely  found  in  the  pictures 
of  Titian  and  Tintoretto,  and  conspicuously  absent 
in  some  of  the  latter’s  greatest  works.  His  colour 
has  a transparent , brilliant  lightness  unequalled  by 
that  of  any  other  master,  and  a sweeping  sureness 
of  touch  which  is  a delight  to  the  modern  painter.” 

Except  for  a trip  to  Rome  with  the  Venetian 
ambassadors,  Veronese  hardly  left  Venice  once  he 
had  settled  in  it.  Recommended  by  Titian,  he  was 
his  assistant  in  the  decorations  of  the  Great  Coun- 
cil Hall  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  which,  with  all  the 
other  precious  works,  was  destroyed  by  fire.  His 
frescoes  in  the  Sacristy  of  S.  Sebastiano  were  his 
next  works,  and  here  he  is  seen  in  the  plenitude 
of  his  power.  The  Academy  has  a long  list  of 
works  catalogued  as  Veronese’s,  but  Berenson  and 
other  modern  critics  do  not  allow  him  nearly  all 


i9°  Ube  Ert  of  tbe  IDenice  Ecabem$ 


of  these,  and  at  least  it  is  certain  that  so  many 
of  them  have  been  worked  over  by  the  restorer 
that  little  of  their  original  condition  can  be  conjec- 
tured. Also  it  is  probable  that  Carlo,  his  son,  was 
responsible  for  parts  of  some  of  them  that  have 
since  been  ascribed  wholly  to  the  father. 

In  Room  n there  are  a couple  of  canvases  that 
are  unmistakably  Paolo’s,  though  even  in  one  of 
these  it  is  possible  that  parts  belong  more  or  less 
to  his  assistants.  This  is  the  ceiling  decoration 
which  once  was  in  the  Dhcal  Palace,  representing 
Venice  Enthroned.  The  shape  of  the  canvas  is 
a quatrefoil,  and  the  framing  of  it  cuts  regardlessly 
into  shoulders  and  legs  so  that  it  is  amazing  that 
there  is  any  balance  to  the  picture  at  all.  There 
is  not  only  balance,  however,  there  is  a splendid 
swing  and  a spotting  as  unique  as  it  is  effective. 
Venice  is  seated  so  that  the  lower  part  of  her  fig- 
ure fills  the  centre  and  part  of  the  left  half  of  the 
square,  while  her  head  and  shoulders  rise  into  the 
upper  circular  opening.  She  is  turned  three-quar- 
ters to  the  right,  and,  with  left  hand  extended  and 
eyes  lifted,  seems  to  be  gazing  into  futurity  and  to 
be  quite  heedless  of  the  attendants  about  her. 
Scarcely  beautiful  in  face,  in  figure  she  is  one  of 
Veronese’s  deep-chested,  broad-shouldered,  calmly 
majestic  women  such  as  fill  so  many  of  his  can- 
vases. It  is  the  kind  of  woman  found  not  only 


VENICE  ENTHRONED 
By  Paolo  Veronese 


IRoom  M.-Sala  Deir  Bssunta  191 

in  his,  but  so  often,  also,  in  Tintoretto’s,  Palma’s, 
and  Titian’s  pictures  that  one  names  it  at  once 
as  typically  Venetian.  They  are  never  intellectual, 
these  women.  Nor  is  there  the  archness  or  co- 
quetry that  might  be  expected  in  the  non-intellectual 
order  of  women.  Rather  they  have  a certain  mass- 
ive impressiveness  and  a naturalness  that  is  frankly, 
if  rather  grandly,  of  the  earth,  earthy.  The 
calm,  primal,  unspoiled  mate  of  man,  — that  is 
what  perhaps  the  type  most  often  expresses.  Ven- 
ice here  is  no  exception  to  the  rule,  though  there 
is  a might  of  sovereignty  in  her  very  gestures.  She 
is  dressed  in  a rich  brocaded  satin  robe  over 
a rose-toned  gown,  with  pearls  in  her  ears,  about 
her  throat,  and  on  her  breast,  a golden  crown  on 
her  fair  hair.  At  her  feet,  on  a lower  step  and 
partly  covered  by  her  mantle,  is  a lion,  and  before, 
at  her  right,  the  half-nude  figure  of  Ceres,  holding 
up  her  robe  filled  with  wheat.  At  the  other  side 
of  Venice,  one  foot  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  throne, 
is  Hercules,  standing  in  profile,  nude  except  for  a 
skin  knotted  about  his  chest.  He  is  a heavy,  mus- 
cular fellow,  with  mighty  chest,  thick,  short  neck, 
and  curly  dark  beard  and  hair.  His  left  hand 
holds  his  club  and  he  is  leaning  forward  looking 
apparently  at  Ceres.  Back  of  him  a young  and 
lovely  girl  in  a blue  robe,  with  flowers  in  her  hair, 
is  seen,  and  farther  still  in  the  background,  at  the 


192  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcabein£ 


right  of  Venice,  another  woman.  Below  this  en- 
tire group  is  a little  Love  lifting  a big  sheaf  of 
wheat  over  his  shoulders.  Like  most  of  the  Vene- 
tians, Veronese  was  at  his  happiest  when  his  brush 
was  painting  a chubby  baby,  and  the  little  one  here 
has  an  unformed,  entrancing  grace  and  naturalness 
that  contrast  delightfully  with  the  mature  and 
ample  figure  above  him. 

It  has  been  said  that  Veronese  never  painted  a 
satisfactory  Madonna  or  Holy  Family.  His  art 
was  too  scenic  to  be  at  its  best  in  the  simple  altar- 
piece  in  which  Bellini  was  greatest.  Critics  have 
even  used  the  Holy  Family  in  this  room  as  a 
flagrant  example  of  his  inability  properly  to  mass 
such  a group  or  to  keep  the  relationship  of  parts 
coherent,  to  give  it,  in  effect,  any  real  excuse  for 
being.  All  of  these  objections  are  to*  a certain  ex- 
tent, and  from  one  point  of  view,  undeniably  true. 
Yet  it  remains  equally  undeniable  that  the  picture 
is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  altar-pieces  in  the 
world. 

On  a high  seat  in  front  of  a rounding  niche, 
hung  with  a black  and  gold  embroidery,  sits  the 
Madonna  dressed  in  a red  robe,  blue  mantle  lined 
with  green,  and  a grayish-toned  veil  that  falls  over 
the  back  of  her  head  and  on  to  her  shoulder.  Her 
figure  is  turned  three-quarters  to  the  right,  her 
face  slightly  to  the  left,  and  she  holds  upright  in 


HOLY  FAMILY 
By  Paolo  Veronese 


IRoom  Ilf,  — Sala  t>eir  Bssunta  193 


her  arms  the  Child.  He  has  one  arm  about  her 
neck,  the  other  at  her  throat,  while  one  tiny  foot 
rests  on  her  hand  holding  the  Scriptures.  Beside 
them  is  Joseph,  in  blue  robe  and  yellow  mantle, 
leaning  on  his  staff,  his  head  in  profile.  Below, 
standing  back  to  on  a marble  pedestal,  is  the  tiny 
Baptist,  a skin  thrown  over  his  right  shoulder  and 
tied  with  a band  about  his  waist,  a cross  in  his 
right  hand.  At  the  left,  in  profile,  stands  St.  James, 
resting  his  left  elbow  on  the  pedestal  and  showing 
his  hand  with  the  stigmata,  which  the  little  Baptist 
is  lightly  touching.  St.  Justina,  with  pearls  in  her 
beautiful  hair,  her  irregular  and  charming  profile 
lifted  to  the  group  above,  is  seen  behind  St.  James. 
At  the  right,  both  elbows  on  the  pedestal,  holding 
a big,  open  book,  leans  St.  Jerome,  in  rose-coloured 
brocaded  robe  and  crimson  velvet  hood.  His  face 
is  turned  three-quarters  out  and  he  is  looking 
downward  in  a deep  study.  Holding  up  a gray 
drapery  back  of  the  Madonna  is  a golden-haired 
cherub. 

If  this  picture  lacks  somewhat  in  compositional 
unity,  it  makes  it  up  in  beauty  of  colour,  in  nobility 
of  face  and  figure,  and,  especially,  in  the  fasci- 
nating loveliness  of  the  two  babies.  Mary  has  a 
grace  and  tenderness  of  expression  that  suggest 
spiritual  depths  seldom  felt  in  the  women  of  Vero- 
nese. It  is  the  Venetian  type  of  face,  but  greatly 


i94  Zhe  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Hcafcem# 


idealized  and  softened.  Her  mouth  is  unusually 
lovely  in  its  curves,  her  eyes  are  limpidly  tender, 
with  neither  the  wide  stare  nor  the  sleepy  indolence 
shown  in  many  of  the  Madonnas  of  later  Venetian 
art.  As  for  the  baby  Jesus,  the  fresh,  round  beauty 
of  his  little  limbs,  the  adorable  pressure  of  his  tiny 
hand,  the  soft  fineness  of  his  yellow  curls,  the  ap- 
pealing tenderness  of  his  expression,  all  this  makes 
him  one  of  Veronese’s  loveliest  of  baby  Christs,  — 
and,  as  even  Ruskin  was  fain  to  remark,  the  Child 
in  nearly  all  of  Veronese’s  works  was  almost  al- 
ways rarely  beautiful.  The  St.  John  on  the  ped- 
estal has  been  objected  to  by  at  least  one  critic  on 
account  of  his  position.  But  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  this  deliberate  placing  of  his  back  to  the 
spectator  was  not  a necessity  of  Paolo’s  compo- 
sitional scheme.  At  all  events,  that  sturdy  little 
back  and  legs  are  modelled  with  surety  and  supple- 
ness, and  have  a silvery  brightness  of  colour  that 
perhaps  only  Correggio  could  have  excelled.  The 
faces  of  the  three  men  are  portraitlike  in  their  in- 
dividualism and  careful  delineation.  The  dream- 
ing calm  of  Jerome  is  in  telling  contrast  with  the 
lined,  anxious  profile  of  St.  Francis,  and  not  less 
remarkable  is  the  adoring,  if  somewhat  puzzled, 
regard  of  Joseph  himself. 

But  far  beyond  the  interest  roused  by  these  mas- 
terly figures  is  the  charm  exerted  by  the  Mother 


IRoom  m — Saia  bell’  Bssunta  195 

and  Child.  Again  and  again  the  eye  returns  to 
those  beautiful  two,  and  each  time  it  seems  unjust 
stricture  that  names  Cagliari  a painter  with  no 
soul. 


CHAPTER  X. 


ROOM  VII.  — SALA  DEI  FRIULANI 

The  Sala  dei  Friulani  is  so  named  from  the 
works  of  men  from  the  Friuli  country  which  mostly 
fill  it. 

One  of  these  men  was  Martino  da  Udine, 
or  Pellegrino  da  S.  Daniele,  as  he  is  some- 
times called.  He  was  the  son  of  a Dalmatian, 
Battista,  a painter  who  lived  at  Udine,  and  he  was 
born  probably  between  1460  and  1470.  “ It  is 

conjectured  that  Martino  derived  his  appellation  of 
Pellegrino,  which  is  equivalent  to  the  ‘ little 
stranger,’  from  his  foreign  origin,  while  the  ad- 
junct of  San  Daniele  came  from  the  little  Friulian 
town  in  which  his  father  resided  and  in  which  Mar- 
tino long  worked  as  painter.”  He  began  his  fres- 
coes in  the  choir  of  the  Church  of  S.  Antonio'  at 
San  Daniele,  but,  on  account  of  the  wars  be- 
tween the  Venetians  and  Emperor  Maximilian, 
which  drove  him  from  the  country,  he  did  not 
finish  them  till  nearly  a quarter  of  a century  after- 
ward. During  that  time  he  lived  in  Venice  and 

196 


IRoom  MIL  — Sala  bet  ffrtulant  197 


visited  other  important  cities  in  Italy.  His  early 
work  at  San  Daniele  shows  him  a hard,  dry  painter 
with  little  technical  knowledge,  but  his  later  proves 
him  to*  have  absorbed  much  from  the  Bellini  and 
the  other  great  Venetians.  Indeed,  he  so  far  suc- 
ceeded in  copying  their  style  that  many  works 
which  have  been  attributed.  to  these  far  greater 
men  are  proved  now  to  be  his  own.  He  recalls 
Giorgione,  Pordenone,  Romanino,  and  even  at 
times  Titian  and  Palma  Vecchio.  He  died  in  1547. 

“ He  is  a striking  instance,”  says  Layard,  “ of 
an  imitator  of  certain  grand  qualities  in  Venetian 
art,  without  the  careful  drawing  and  deeper  feel- 
ing requisite  to'  form  a first-rate  master.  He  has 
consequently  acquired  a far  greater  reputation  than 
he  deserves,  for  he  was,  in  fact,  a very  mediocre 
painter.” 

He  had  heavy  outlines,  abrupt  and  unsustained 
transitions  from  light  to  shadow,  too'  much  red- 
ness in  his  flesh-tones  and  angularity  in  his 
drapery.  He  was  the  teacher  of  Pordenone,  and 
when  that  far  more  talented  youth  began  to  out- 
rival his  master,  Pellegrino  did  not  hesitate  to  copy 
his  erstwhile  pupil’s  manner. 

The  three  pictures  in  Room  7 are  not  by  any 
means  up  to  his  best  works.  Of  the  two<  Annun- 
ciations, the  one  which  came  from  the  Chiesa  di 
S.  Francesco  in  Treviso  is  perhaps  the  mare  grace- 


*98  Uhe  Brt  ot  tbe  Venice  Bcabems 


ful.  Mary  is  shown  kneeling  at  the  right  before  a 
prie-dieu  in  a marble-tiled  court  under  a hanging  of 
white  drapery.  She  is  dressed  in  a dark  green 
mantle  bordered  with  golden  embroidery.  At  the 
left,  coming  from  a marble  porch,  is  the  angel  with 
a lily  in  his  left  hand,  his  right  lifted  in  blessing. 
He  is  dressed  in  a gray  mantle  over  a yellowish- 
toned  tunic  with  blue  sleeves.  His  face  and 
features  are  very  girlish,  while  his  figure  is  some- 
what robust  and  heavy.  In  the  background,  show- 
ing through  an  open  loggia,  is  a landscape,  and  in 
the  sky  above  the  head  and  shoulders  of  the  Al- 
mighty are  seen  in  the  midst  of  clouds.  There  is 
little  grace  of  action  here,  the  shadows  are  unreal, 
the  colours  not  well-chosen  or  arranged.  Part  of 
these  faults  may,  however,  well  be  due  to  the  re- 
storer. It  was  painted  in  1519  for  the  Tailors’ 
Guild  at  Udine,  and  critics  have  claimed  that  it 
is  only  a copy  of  one  in  S.  Antonio. 

The  other  Annunciation  is  on  two  panels  and 
probably  made  part  of  a larger  picture.  The  Vir- 
gin, in  a crimson  robe  under  a blue  mantle  lined 
with  gold-coloured  silk,  with  a white  linen  head- 
veil,  is  seen  standing  in  a room  by  an  open  window. 
Near  this  a dove  is  flying.  The  angel  is  placed 
with  some  grace  of  arrangement,  wearing  a white 
robe,  maize-coloured  sleeves  with  scarlet  trimming 
on  the  shoulder.  He  is  in  the  full  light,  which  is 


IRooin  MIL  — Sala  Det  ftlulanf  199 


made  more  marked  by  the  shadow  thrown  on  the 
wall  behind.  His  wings  are  iridescent  in  colour. 
Both  of  the  figures  are  under  life-size. 

Of  an  entirely  different  calibre  is  the  Holy  Fam- 
ily with  John  the  Baptist  and  St.  Catherine,  which 
some  critics  do  not  assign  to  Palma  Vecchio,  but 
which  others,  of  equal  authority,  do.  Whether  by 
Palma  or  not,  there  is  scarcely  a more  beautiful 
picture  to  be  found  under  his  name  than  this  charm- 
ing Santa  Conversazione.  In  colouring,  in  mass, 
and  in  balance  it  is  a masterpiece  of  art.  The  baby 
Jesus  is  adorable,  its  perfect  little  form  full  of  grace 
and  dimpled  loveliness,  the  face  a marvel  of  baby 
beauty. 

Seated  at  the  right,  on  a marble  base  at  the  foot 
of  a group  of  marble  columns,  is  Mary,  almost  in 
full  face,  holding  the  Child  upright  on  her  knee. 
Her  head  is  turned  to  the  left  and  she  is  smiling 
at  St.  Catherine,  who,  seated  at  her  feet,  seems  to 
be  presenting  John  the  Baptist,  kneeling  at  the 
left.  At  the  right,  lower  than  Mary,  is  Joseph, 
his  rugged,  pathetic  face  lifted  to  the  Child,  who 
is  gazing  at  him  with  a tender  smile,  while  his  tiny 
hand  is  raised  in  blessing. 

Both  Mary  and  Catherine  are  charming  types, 
less  massive  in  build  than  is  usual  with  Palma, 
and  Joseph  is  portrayed  with  a sympathetic  appre- 
ciation seldom  found  in  the  Italian  pictures  of  the 


200  xr be  Hvt  of  tbe  Dentce  Bcabem$ 


Holy  Family.  The  whole  scene  is  one  of  beauty, 
full  of  the  most  glowing,  pulsing  colour. 

Jacopo,  or  Jacomo  Palma,  known  in  the  history 
of  art  as  Palma  Vecchio,  was  born,  it  is  now  pretty 
generally  believed,  in  Serinalta,  a village  near  Ber- 
gamo1, but  at  what  date  has  not  been  definitely  set- 
tled. If  Vasari  is  right  in  his  statement  that  he  was 
forty-eight  when  he  died,  he  must  have  been  born 
in  1480,  documents  having  been  discovered  prov- 
ing his  death  to  have  occurred  in  1528.  By  Vasari 
and  by  the  Venetians  Palma  was  always  claimed 
as  a native  of  Venice,  and  it  is  supposed  that  he 
must  have  gone  there  very  young,  and  perhaps 
have  entered  Giovanni  Bellini’s  bottega  along  with 
Titian  and  Giorgione.  His  work  shows  traits 
characteristic  of  all  three  painters  as  well  as  some 
more  peculiarly  the  property  of  his  own  country- 
man, Lorenzo  Lotto.  Lotto  and  he  were  intimate 
friends  and  the  influence  of  each  can  be  felt  in  the 
other’s  work.  Palma’s  real  place  in  the  history  of 
art  in  Italy  is  the  subject  of  considerable  dispute. 
On  one  side  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle,  basing  their 
opinion  upon  the  supposed  date  of  1 500  of  a picture 
in  the  Conde  Museum,  Paris,  claim  that  he  was 
one  of  the  greatest  leaders  of  Venetian  art,  — that 
he  was  an  originator  and  that  he  “ shared  with 
Giorgione  and  Titian  the  honour  of  modernizing 
and  regenerating  Venetian  art.”  Morelli,  and  in- 


IRoom  Mfl.  — Sala  &ei  jfriulani 


201 


deed  most  modern  critics,  dispute  this  hotly,  claim- 
ing that  the  date  of  the  Conde  picture  is  un- 
doubtedly a late  forgery,  and  that  there  is  nothing 
in  Palma’s  work,  delightful  as  it  is,  that  can  put 
it  on  a plane  with  these  greatest  Venetians. 

In  the  Academy  there  are  few  of  Palma’s  works. 
Berenson  gives  him  only  three,  but  generally  he  is 
credited  with  four,  the  Assumption,  Christ  and  the 
Adulteress,  St.  Peter  Enthroned,  and  the  Holy 
Family  just  described. 

If  not  the  originator  of  the  so-called  Santa  Con- 
versazione, Palma  Vecchio'  developed  it  to  a greater 
extent  than  any  of  the  men  before  him.  The  sub- 
ject was  peculiarly  suited  to  his  temperament,  with 
its  smiling  landscape  background,  its  grouping  of 
cheerful,  healthy  men  and  women,  its  display  of 
costly  silks  and  gleaming  jewels.  More  than  all 
else  Palma  is  known  as  the  painter  of  women,  — 
Venetian  women  of  society  of  the  first  half  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  He  was  one  of  the  most  fash- 
ionable portrait-painters  in  Venice,  probably  be- 
cause no  one  better  than  he  could  intensify  the 
golden  notes  of  the  blond  hair,  or  make  more  pearly 
the  tones  of  the  fair  complexion.  In  his  pictures, 
whether  actually  portraits  or  not,  live  again  the 
women  of  his  day.  They  are  all  large,  of  ample 
proportions,  with  a calm  dignity  of  bearing,  border- 
ing, it  is  true,  not  infrequently  upon  the  lethargic, 


202 


Ubc  Brt  of  tbe  Denice  Bcabems 


with  a type  of  face  that  suggests  placidity  rather 
than  power,  and  a poise  gained  more  from  inaction 
than  restraint.  As  has  been  said,  these  Venetian 
beauties  are  seldom  intellectual,  nor  do  they  often 
appear  possessed  of  any  great  power  of  emotion. 
But  they  are  always  intensely  feminine,  and  in 
their  flowing  silken  robes  with  ropes  of  pearl  about 
their  white  necks,  softly  gleaming  stones  on  hair, 
breast,  and  fingers,  they  express  fully  and  perfectly 
the  opulence  and  the  indolence  of  the  aristocracy 
of  the  time  which  gave  them  birth.  Only  in  his 
St.  Barbara  in  Santa  Maria  Formosa  does  Palma 
succeed  in  portraying  a woman  of  a nobility  of  ex- 
pression, of  a grandeur  of  form  and  face,  of  an  in- 
tensity of  spiritual  power,  that  place  her  far  beyond 
the  unthinking,  quiescent  maids  and  matrons  of 
most  of  his  portrait  or  Sante  Conversazioni  groups. 
From  a technical  point  of  view,  Palma  is  greater 
as  a colourist  than  as  a draughtsman.  No  Venetian, 
probably,  has  surpassed  him  in  his  power  of  ex- 
pressing light-embued,  pearly  flesh.  He  fairly 
dazzles  with  his  brilliant  transparent  tones.  His 
brush-work  was  full,  rich,  and  liquid,  with  a solid 
firmness  of  touch  that  has  reminded  critics  more  of 
Bellini  than  of  Titian  or  Lotto.  If  lacking  in  the 
imagination  and  invention  of  Titian,  Giorgione, 
or  even  Lotto,  Palma’s  works  have  a satisfying 
quality  that  in  its  last  analysis  perhaps  may  be  said 


IRoom  ID1F1L  — Sala  Dei  jfrtulani  203 


to  pertain  to  the  material  rather  than  to  the  mental 
or  spiritual.  They  exhale  a “ Good  Cheer  ” that 
has  something  allied  to  the  contentment  of  a well- 
housed,  well-fed,  well-dressed,  and,  also,  well-bred 
member  of  that  society  sometimes  labelled  in  Eng- 
land the  “ Landed  Gentry.” 

Giovanni  de’  Busi,  who  was  a pupil  of  Palma 
Vecchio,  is  known  in  the  history  of  art  as  Cariani. 
He  was  a Bergamasque,  and  was  bom  in  Fuipiano 
in  1480.  Vasari  does  not  even  mention  him,  and 
only  a few  years  after  his  death  his  works  were 
already  ascribed  to  such  men  as  Giorgione,  Sebas- 
tiano  del  Piombo',  Lorenzo  Lotto,  and,  especially, 
to  Palma  Vecchio.  His  own  manner  changed  with 
the  years,  and  attributes  of  any  one  of  these  men 
may  be  seen  in  his  works  of  different  periods. 
Morelli  says  that,  whereas  Palma  Vecchio  is  “ un- 
doubtedly the  most  accomplished,  complete,  and 
well-balanced  of  all  the  Bergamasque  artists,” 
Cariani,  nevertheless,  was  “ the  most  vigorous  and 
full  of  vitality  among  them.” 

Of  his  works  in  the  Venice  Academy  Lafenes- 
tre  only  allows  him  two,  both  in  Room  9,  one,  the 
portrait  of  an  unknown  man,  the  other  a Holy  Con- 
versation. Berenson  credits  him  with  another  por- 
trait of  an  old  man  and  one  of  an  old  woman  be- 
sides. The  new  official  catalogue  gives  the  Holy 
Conversation  which  Lafenestre  credits  to*  Cariani, 


204  Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  Dentce  Bcabem^ 


to  Rizzo  of  the  Vecchi,  but  ascribes  to  Cariani  the 
Mother  and  Child  with  the  Baptist  in  Room  7,  a 
work  which  Lafenestre  claims  as  Previtali’s.  While 
so  many  noted  critics  disagree  as  to  the  works  of 
this  painter,  who  was  himself,  apparently,  much  of 
a chameleon  in  the  way  he  adopted  the  style  and 
manner  of  the  men  working  about  him,  it  is  useless 
for  the  ordinary  student  to  form  much  opinion  con- 
cerning them.  Accepting  Berenson’s  as  well  as 
the  official  catalogue’s  attribution  to  Cariani  of 
the  Santa  Conversazione  in  this  room,  the  student, 
at  least,  will  be  able  to  form  a pretty  fair  idea  of 
that  painter’s  manner. 

It  is  an  out-of-doors  scene,  the  Madonna  in  the 
centre  under  a tree,  dressed  in  a red  robe  and  blue 
mantle  lined  with  yellow.  She  is  sitting  in  full 
face,  holding  the  Child  upright  on  her  knees,  her 
face  turned  toward  the  right.  The  little  nude 
baby  is  looking  toward  the  left  at  St.  John,  a tiny 
boy  in  a green  tunic,  presenting  to  Jesus  St.  Zacha- 
rias,  a brilliantly  costumed  personage  in  his  crim- 
son robe,  gray  cloak,  and  yellow  turban.  At  the 
right  is  St.  Catherine  in  a green  dress,  white 
chemisette,  and  brown  mantle,  her  wheel  of  martyr- 
dom before  her.  The  background  for  the  group 
is  the  sky  where  the  sun  is  seen  setting.  The  pic- 
ture shows  Cariani’s  fine  feeling  for  colour,  and  the 
figures  have  some  of  the  vigour  and  strength  that 


ffioom  ID1F1L — Sala  t>et  ffrtulani  205 


he  possessed  to'  a greater  degree  than  Bonifazio, 
whom  he  otherwise  much  resembles. 

Another  Madonna  and  Child  with  Saints,  which 
the  catalogue  calls  a Cariani,  Berenson  does  not 
acknowledge  as  that  painter’s  work.  It  is  sadly 
repainted,  but  in  spite  of  that  has  many  character- 
istics of  the  Bergamasque  artist,  but  probably  of 
his  early  days. 

In  the  centre,  on  a sort  of  pedestal  built  of  stone 
in  three  parts,  the  sides  being  lower  than  the  middle 
portion,  sits  Mary  holding  the  Child.  He  is  curi- 
ously ill-drawn  and  awkward,  while  she  shows 
much  of  the  freedom  and  knowledge  of  the  six- 
teenth century.  Behind  the  stone,  at  the  left,  is 
a fair-haired,  placid-faced  woman  with  the  aureole 
of  a saint.  At  the  left  is  the  Magdalen  in  profile, 
with  her  box  of  ointment,  and  between  her  and 
Mary  is  Joseph  leaning  on  a cane. 

There  is  almost  as  much  if  not  more  dispute 
concerning  Previtali  and  hi§  works  as  there  is  over 
Cariani  and  his.  The  Madonna  and  Child  with 
John  the  Baptist  and  St.  Catherine,  in  this  room, 
which  some  critics  acknowledge  as  a Previtali, 
others,  as  well  as  Professor  Pietro  Paoletti  di  Os- 
waldo  in  the  official  catalogue  of  the  Academy,  call 
a Cariani.  It  shows  the  Virgin  seated  in  a chamber 
at  the  right,  turned  three-quarters  to  the  left,  both 
hands  placed  about  the  baby  Jesus,  who  is  nursing. 


2o6  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Dentce  Ecabems 


At  the  left,  gazing  at  the  two,  is  St.  Catherine  lean- 
ing on  her  wheel,  dressed  in  a red  robe,  yellow 
mantle,  and  white  head-veil,  a jewelled  brooch  on 
her  breast.  Slightly  farther  back  is  John  the  Bap- 
tist, in  a red  mantle,  holding  out  a cross  to  the 
Holy  Child.  Back  of  Mary  is  a green  drapery,  and 
through  a window  is  a landscape  with  mountainous 
distance  and  a fortified  castle. 

Morelli  believes  Andrea  Previtali  a pupil  of  the 
Bellini,  with  colouring  second  only  to  Gianbellini, 
and  a painter  of  sympathetic  and  interesting  land- 
scapes, but  says  he  has  no  real  originality  in  con- 
ception, nor  even  much  grace  or  beauty.  He  en- 
tirely disagrees  with  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  and 
some  of  the  Italian  critics,  who  think  Previtali  and 
Cordeliaghi  were  one  and  the  same.  These  author- 
ities, says  Morelli,  ascribe  to  Previtali  many  too 
beautiful  works  which  really  are  by  far  greater 
men.  According  to  this  latter  writer,  he  was  a 
thoroughly  faithful  follower  of  Bellini. 

Francesco  and  Girolamo>  da  Santa  Croce  were 
also  followers  of  Bellini,  though  weak  ones.  They 
were  natives  of  the  town  from  which  they  took 
their  name,  a little  Bergamasque  village  a few  miles 
from  Bergamo  itself.  Francesco  is  the  elder  of 
the  two,  who  are  either  brothers  or  near  relatives. 
The  earliest  date  on  his  works,  says  Kugler,  is 
1504,  the  latest  1547.  In  spite  of  the  influence  of 


IRoom  MIL  — 5a la  del  ffriulant  207 


Bellini  evident  in  his  works,  he  shows  little  real 
appreciation  of  the  glorious  art  in  the  midst  of 
which  he  lived.  Girolamo  is  believed  to  have  been 
his  assistant,  though  some  writers  claim  him  to  be 
the  superior  painter  of  the  two. 

The  Vision  of  Christ  to  the  Magdalen,  in  Room 
7,  is  a large  panel  painted  in  1513  for  the  nunnery 
of  the  Dominicans  in  Venice.  The  landscape,  ac- 
cording to  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle,  is  “ stolen,  as 
it  were,  from  Basaiti,”  and  it  has  the  “ short,  bull- 
headed figures  with  the  crabbed  features  which 
mark  Bellini’s  Circumcision  at  Castle  Howard.” 

Jesus,  still  in  his  grave-clothes,  is  shown  standing 
in  the  centre  holding  a banner.  He  is  reaching 
out  his  pierced  hand  to  the  Madonna,  who  is  ac- 
companied by  a woman  and  two  disciples.  At  the 
right  are  two  other  disciples  and  another  woman, 
and  in  the  air  are  two  flying  angels.  This  is  heavy, 
the  nudes  awkward,  and  the  heads  coarse  and  angu- 
lar. The  colour,  however,  is  brilliant,  and  the 
handling  shows  the  man  well-accustomed  to  his  art. 
Perhaps  the  best  part  of  the  picture  is  the  dra- 
peries. 

Girolamo  follows  closely  in  the  elder’s  wake, 
keeping  the  style  of  the  earlier  century  even  in  the 
midst  of  the  great  advance  that  art  was  making 
in  Venice.  Their  works  have  a certain  prettiness 
that  passes  muster  for  sentiment  and  religious 


2o8  ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Dentce  Bcabent£ 


feeling.  The  series  of  saints  by  Girolamo  in 
Room  7 are  fair  examples  of  his  successful  style. 

St.  John  the  Evangelist  is  shown  turned  three- 
quarters  to  the  right,  in  a red  robe  and  green  man- 
tle, writing  in  an  open  book.  St.  Mark,  turned 
three-quarters  to  the  left  in  a red  robe  and  blue 
mantle,  is  reading  from  a book,  his  lion  at  his  feet. 

Another  panel  represents  the  two  Church  saints, 
Gregory  and  Augustine,  with  rich,  embroidered 
priestly  robes,  showing  a care  of  handling  and  a 
certain  amount  of  freedom  that  do  not  hide  the 
absence  of  any  originality. 

The  Scourging  of  Christ  in  this  same  room  was 
called  by  Catena,  much  to  the  disgust  of  Morelli, 
who  labels  it  “ a worthless  production  undoubtedly 
by  Girolamo  da  Santa  Croce.”  It  shows  Jesus, 
nude  save  for  a cloth  about  his  loins,  tied  to  a pil- 
lar, an  executioner  on  each  side  of  him  with  their 
knotted  whips  in  hand,  fiendish  enjoyment  shining 
from  their  twisted,  ill-constructed  faces.  Jesus  is 
a shrinking,  terrified  figure,  and  has  neither  nobil- 
ity, beauty,  nor  even  correct  anatomy  to  give  him 
dignity.  The  composition,  with  the  judge  seated 
at  the  left  and  the  group  of  mockers  at  the  right,  is 
empty  and  unbalanced. 

The  Madonna  and  Child  with  St.  John  the  Bap- 
tist, St.  Anna,  and  St.  Louis,  by  Benedetto  Diana,  in 
this  room,  shows  the  Madonna  on  a throne  which 


iRoorn  OTfl.  — Sala  &ei  petulant  209 


makes  a chapel-like  niche.  She  is  clad  in  a rose- 
toned  robe  and  blue  mantle  lined  with  yellow,  and 
is  turning  three-quarters  to  the  right,  offering  a 
flower  to  the  baby  Jesus,  who  is  standing  on  the 
pedestal  of  the  throne.  The  little  St.  John  with  his 
cross  is  slightly  farther  back,  and  at  the  foot  of  the 
throne  an  angel  is  picking  up  flowers.  In  the  fore- 
ground at  the  right  is  St.  Anna  in  a blue  robe  and 
gray  mantle,  at  the  left  is  St.  Louis  in  white  sur- 
plice and  brocaded  dalmatic  lined  with  green. 
Back,  through  two  openings  at  the  sides  of  the 
throne,  is  a distant  landscape  with  castles  on  the 
right  and  left.  Morelli  and  all  the  earlier  writers 
give  this  to  Diana,  but  some  recent  critics  have 
doubted  his  claim  to  it. 

The  Woman  Taken  in  Adultery  is  a subject 
which  Marconi  repeated  several  times.  The  one 
in  Room  7,  according  to  the  catalogue,  is  only  a 
copy  of  one  of  his  works.  Molmenti,  Kugler,  East- 
lake,  Berenson,  and  others  consider  it  an  original. 
The  composition  is  overfull  of  figures,  and  Jesus, 
though  not  without  a certain  tenderness  of  expres- 
sion, is  ineffective  in  pose,  and  his  gestures  are  un- 
meaning. Better  than  he  is  the  turbaned  man  stand- 
ing at  the  right,  with  outstretched  hand,  apparently 
arguing  with  the  Master.  Best  of  all,  however,  is 
the  culprit,  here  depicted  as  a true  penitent,  her 
lovely,  refined  face  full  of  a sorrow  as  real  as  it  is 


2 10 


Zhc  Hrt  of  tbe  Dentce  Bcabem# 


touching.  The  draperies  are  rich  in  colour,  and  the 
harmony  of  tones  is  fairly  musical  in  its  vibrations. 

The  Saviour  between  St.  Peter  and  St.  John  has 
a solemnity  of  expression  that,  as  M.  Charles  Blanc 
says,  is  a trifle  monotonous.  The  chief  beauty  of 
the  picture  lies,  as  is  usual  with  Marconi,  in  its 
fine  colour  effect,  which  effect  is  achieved  not  only 
by  the  rich-toned  robes,  but  by  the  landscape  back- 
ground, where  trees  mass  against  the  evening  sky 
filled  with  soft  floating  clouds. 

Jesus  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  scene,  his  right 
hand  lifted  in  benediction.  On  the  right  is  St.  John 
the  Baptist,  bearing  a cross  over  his  shoulder,  a 
lamb  lying  at  his  feet.  Peter  is  at  the  left  holding 
the  keys  and  a book.  The  figures  are  almost  life- 
size.  Peter’s  face  is  dignified,  and  is  the  best  piece 
of  character  work  in  the  composition. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


ROOM  XX.  SALA  DELLA  PRESEN TAZIONE 

The  so-called  Sala  della  Presentazione  was  the 
old  Albergo,  the  reception-hall,  of  the  Scuola  della 
Carita,  and  has  the  same  carved  and  painted  ceil- 
ing which  was  redecorated  and  practically  recon- 
structed as  early  as  1443.  It  is  a magnificent  sam- 
ple of  Renaissance  ornamentation,  the  blue  and 
gold  of  its  colour  scheme  blending  sympathetically 
and  richly  with  the  colouring  of  the  medallions  in 
which  are  represented  Jesus  in  the  centre,  with  the 
four  Evangelists  in  surrounding  framing.  The 
pictures  in  this  room  are  the  ones  which  were 
originally  painted  for  it,  so  that  as  far  as  may  be 
the  hall  is  now  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  the  Brother- 
hood. It  holds  the  finest  picture  by  the  founders 
of  the  Venetian  school  of  the  Renaissance  as  well 
as  one  of  the  most  noted  of  the  greatest  master  of 
that  school. 

The  first  of  these  is  the  Virgin  Enthroned,  by 
Antonio  and  Johannes  da  Murano,  the  first  of  the 
Vivarini,  and  is  a far  more  important  work  than 


211 


212 


ftbe  Brt  of  tbe  Venice  Hcabem# 


any  in  the  Sala  dei  Maestri  Primitivi.  Like  all 
the  examples  of  the  “ primitives,”  it  has  an  enor- 
mous amount  of  the  raised  gold  stucco  work  and 
Gothic  architectural  background,  the  latter  carried 
here  to  a finish  of  detail  and  elaboration  of  parts 
suggesting  the  German  origin  of  at  least  one  of  its 
painters.  It  shows  the  Mother  and  Child  sitting 
on  a throne  under  a canopy  supported  by  four  tall, 
slender  poles  held  by  four  little  angels  whose  long 
wings  break  not  unpleasingly  against  the  Gothic 
court  which  makes  the  background.  On  the  left 
of  this  group  is  St.  Jerome,  in  cardinal’s  robes, 
holding  in  his  right  hand  the  miniature  model  of 
his  church,  and  in  his  left  an  open  book.  Next  him 
is  St.  Gregory,  in  papal  regalia.  At  the  right  are 
St.  Ambrose  with  his  crozier  and  knotted  scourge 
and  St.  Augustine  with  crozier  and  book. 

In  spite  of  the  manifold  repainting  to  which  this 
picture  has  been  subjected,  there  is  enough  of  the 
original  work  left  to  indicate  the  style  of  the  Ger- 
man and  Muranese.  There  is  a dignity  to  the 
straight,  somewhat  stiff  and  conventionally  placed 
doctors  of  the  Church,  and  the  four  little  angels, 
with  their  long  robes  falling  into  easy  if  rather 
too  unbroken  folds,  have  a grace  and  quiet  charm, 
counterbalanced  by  the  calm  majesty  and  benignity 
that  shine  from  out  the  absorbed,  dreaming  face  of 
the  Madonna  and  by  the  repose  of  her  figure.  In 


ST.  AMBROSE  AND  ST.  AUGUSTINE 
(Detail  from  the  Virgin  Enthroned) 

By  Antonio  and  Johannes  Vivarini 


IRoom  ££♦  — Sala  fcella  presenta3ione  213 


spite  of  archaism  and  convention  there  are  here, 
unmistakably,  real  power  and  ability,  and  it  is  not 
hard  to1  understand  how,  from  such  beginnings,  the 
school  of  Venice  could  blossom  out  into  a Titian 
or  Tintoretto1. 

Titian’s  Presentation,  which  gives  its  name  to 
the  hall,  now  hangs  in  exactly  the  place  for  which 
it  was  painted,  at  one  end,  with  two  doors  cutting 
into  it,  one  on  each  side  of  the  centre.  It  is  due 
to  Signor  Cantalamessa  that  it  is  back  in  its  original 
position,  for  it  was  he  who  superintended  its  re- 
moval from  another  room,  to  which  it  had  been 
transferred  for  many  years.  This  transference  had 
necessitated  piecing  up  the  square  openings  made 
by  the  doors  and  painting  over  the  new  surface, 
thus  decidedly  changing  the  composition.  It  ap- 
pears now  as  Titian  left  it,  except  for  the  ills  the 
restorer  has  brought  upon  it.  In  many  places  it 
has  been  retouched  and  cleaned,  and  the  figure  of 
Anna  and  the  dress  of  the  old  egg  woman,  at 
least,  are  wholly  modern  rendering. 

The  picture  was  painted  probably  about  1542. 
It  is  stated  that  Titian  made  a sketch  for  it  as 
early  as  when  he  was  in  Giovanni  Bellini’s  bottega, 
and  it  is  further  claimed  that  in  Jacopo  Bellini’s 
sketch-book  can  be  found  the  same,  or  a very  simi- 
lar composition,  showing  that  Titian  apparently 
borrowed  his  idea  from  him.  If  he  did,  the  bor- 


2i4  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  Denice  Bcabemp 


rowing  was  much  like  Shakespeare’s  borrowing 
from  whatever  source  was  handiest,  his  genius  of 
creation  afterward  making  it  all  a thousandfold 
more  truly  his  than  it  had  ever  been  another’s, 
even  in  its  rudimentary  state. 

At  the  right,  on  the  upper  step  at  the  entrance 
to  a temple  with  marble  columns,  stands  the  high 
priest,  in  Jewish  priestly  garments  of  yellow  and 
blue  over  a white  robe,  his  hands  raised  in  greet- 
ing as  he  stands  waiting  for  the  little  Mary  who 
has  mounted  the  great  gray  stone  steps  half-way 
toward  him.  At  the  foot  of  the  flight  stand  the 
Mother  of  Mary  and  a woman  attendant,  and  back 
of  them,  crowding  about  the  steps  and  coming 
from  the  loggia  of  another  building,  are  many  other 
men,  women,  and  children,  all  dressed  in  the  Vene- 
tian fashion  of  Titian’s  day.  Back  of  the  high 
priest  is  a bearded  man  in  cardinal’s  robes  and  a 
young  acolyte  in  red  and  yellow  suit,  bearing  the 
book  of  service.  Stately  buildings  with  Corinthian 
pillars  and  coloured  marble  fagades,  with  people 
at  windows  and  on  balconies,  extend  back  from  the 
temple  steps,  and  in  the  distance  is  a rocky  moun- 
tainous region  and  a cloudless  sky.  In  the  imme- 
diate foreground,  sitting  on  the  ground  beside  the 
steps,  is  an  old  market-woman  with  her  basket  of 
eggs  beside  her,  — a wonderful  bit  of  realistic 


PRESENTATION 
By  Titian 


IRoom  ££.  — Sala  Della  IPresentastone  215 


painting  whose  excellences  all  the  vituperations  of 
a Ruskin  have  not  lessened. 

Such  is  the  general  scheme  of  this  world-famous 
picture.  But  no'  mere  words  can  half  describe  the 
masterly  treatment  of  it  from  a compositional  point 
of  view.  The  massing  and  grouping  of  the  crowd 
watching  the  progress  of  the  child  Mary,  the  way 
the  lines  of  the  buildings  are  utilized  to<  connect 
this  lower  portion  with  the  priest  and  temple  en- 
trance, the  management  of  the  radiance  that  sur- 
rounds the  child  so  that,  although  almost  at  one 
end  of  the  canvas,  it  is  she  who  becomes  the  focal 
centre  of  the  composition,  all  this  shows  Titian’s 
mastery  over  the  technicalities  of  his  art.  But  these 
painter  attributes  and  attainments,  great  as  they 
are,  are  not,  Mr.  Ruskin  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing, nearly  the  greatest  or  most  vital  attri- 
butes of  the  work.  It  is  the  humanity,  the  reality, 
the  life  in  it,  which  have  given  it  a fame  accorded 
only  a few  of  the  greatest  pictures  in  the  world. 
The  beauty  of  the  tonal  relations,  the  richness  of 
the  colouring,  the  depth  of  the  shadows,  the 
brilliance  of  that  mysterious  light  about  the  child, 
the  enveloping  atmosphere  of  the  whole,  these, 
again,  are  Titian  at  his  highest  expression.  But 
even  they  do  not  explain  the  tender,  pathetic  beauty 
of  that  little  girl  in  her  sky-blue  dress,  going  up 
those  steps  so  bravely  alone,  her  fearless  little  hand 


216  u be  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  BcaDems 


lifted  to  the  mighty  priest  above  her,  her  golden 
hair  shimmering  in  the  radiance  that  sweeps  about 
her,  flooding  the  steps,  reaching  to  the  priest  above, 
and  extending  back  to  the  watching  friends  and 
neighbours,  but  intensifying  and  concentrating  all 
its  bewildering  brilliance  only  about  her  sturdy  little 
figure.  So  marvellously  does  the  painter  express 
this  golden  glow,  that  there  is  no  hint  of  artificial- 
ity about  it,  — it  does  not  seem  painted,  nor  is  it 
forced;  it  belongs  there,  one  feels,  as  much  as  the 
child  herself,  — is,  indeed,  an  integral  part  of  her, 
and  her  enduring  charm. 

In  this  same  room  is  John  the  Baptist  in  the 
Desert,  painted  when  Titian  was  not  far  from 
eighty  years  old.  It  is  one  of  the  finest  single-figure 
compositions  he  ever  accomplished,  showing  a 
vigour  of  construction,  a depth  of  insight,  and  a 
creative  power  that  fourscore  years  had  apparently 
only  strengthened. 

Standing  in  front  and  slightly  at  one  side  of  a 
high  rocky  ledge,  which  reaches  to  the  top  of  the 
canvas,  is  the  Baptist,  unclothed  except  for  the  loin- 
cloth and  the  cape  of  skins  that  comes  down  over 
one  shoulder  and  about  his  right  thigh.  He  is  in 
nearly  full  face,  his  weight  resting  on  his  right 
leg,  his  right  arm  raised  as  if  beckoning  to  some 
one,  his  head  turned,  looking  in  the  same  direction. 
His  left  hand  holds  the  end  of  his  cloak  of  pelts 


IRoom  ££♦  — Sala  Della  ©resentasione  217 


and  his  reed  cross.  Behind  him  a brook  flows 
through  a mountainous  rocky  region,  and  heavy 
clouds  fill  the  sky. 

The  red-brown  flesh  of  the  Man  of  the  Wilder- 
ness shows  the  effect  of  wind  and  rain,  sun  and 
storm,  and  the  black-bearded  face,  with  its  long, 
curling  hair,  its  piercing  black  eyes,  its  absorbed, 
vigilant  expression,  is  that  of  no  anemic:  dreamer. 
The  form  is  spare,  but  full  of  a tense  vigour,  the 
pose  has  a calmness  that  only  a man  of  great  ac- 
tivity and  great  restraint  can  command.  The  vigi- 
lance of  the  eyes,  the  firm  lines  of  the  mouth,  do 
not  negative  too  strongly  the  benevolent  brow,  the 
fine,  delicate  nose.  It  is  a complex  character  here 
that  Titian  has  portrayed,  and  no  one  else,  one 
feels,  has  ever  so  nearly  expressed  what  the  Man 
Who  Came  Before  must  have  been.  In  anatomical 
construction,  too,  this  figure  is  one  of  the  best 
that  Titian  ever  achieved. 

The  portrait  of  Jacopo  Soranzo  has  been  given 
by  critics,  including  Mr.  Berenson,  to  Tintoretto, 
but,  though  it  is  much  spoiled  by  repainting,  the 
balance  of  opinion  seems  inclined  to>  regard  it  as 
a work  of  the  older  Venetian.  The  entire  upper 
part  of  the  background  and  the  hands  are  new,  and 
all  of  it  is  much  injured  by  time,  dampness,  and  the 
restorer. 

Jacopo  di  Francesco  Soranzo  was  elected  procu- 


218  Ufee  art  of  tbe  IDenice  Hcabenrs? 


rator  in  1522,  obtaining  the  coveted  honour,  it  is 
said,  by  the  expenditure  of  fourteen  thousand  duc- 
ats. The  picture  is  supposed  to  have  been  executed 
at  the  time  of  his  election,  when  he  was  about  fifty- 
six  years  old,  but  he  appears  far  older  than  that, 
with  his  soft  white  beard  and  hair  and  rather 
sunken  mouth.  The  large  dark  eyes  still  hold  the 
penetrating  fires  of  youth,  however,  and  the 
straight,  easy  carriage  is  that  of  a man  in  middle 
age.  The  portrait  is  half-length,  showing  Soranzo 
sitting  almost  full  face  in  an  armchair,  his  head 
turned  to  the  left,  a black  velvet  skull-cap  pulled 
down  on  to  his  forehead,  a fur-bordered  silk  pelisse 
drawn  close  up  to  his  neck  and  entirely  covering 
his  figure  in  its  ample  folds. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


ROOM  IX. SALA  DI  PAOLO  VERONESE 

Room  9 holds  most  of  Tintoretto’s  paintings  in 
the  Academy,  and  among  them  are  many  notable 
portraits.  As  a painter  of  men,  and  particularly  of 
middle-aged  and  old  men,  Tintoretto^  has  rarely 
been  excelled.  Often  little  more  than  sketches,  so 
far  as  handling  goes,  they  have  a vigour,  a life,  a 
fire,  that  few  artists  have  equalled.  The  great 
number  of  these  male  portraits  by  the  fiery  genius 
that  could  cover  more  yards  of  canvas  in  a month 
than  most  of  his  brethren,  either  before  or  since, 
could  in  a year,  is  only  another  proof  of  the  amaz- 
ing breadth  of  his  genius.  Considering  the  gigan- 
tic nature  of  most  of  Tintoretto’s  achievements, 
these  portraits  impress  one.  as  being  the  work  of 
his  off  hours,  recreative  breaks,  as  it  were,  in  the 
midst  of  stupendous  labours.  What  to  less  appal- 
lingly fertile  brains  might  alone  have  been  sufficient 
accomplishment  for  an  entire  lifetime,  seems  with 
him  the  result  of  his  playtime,  his  breathing-spaces. 
They  are  more  brutally  frank,  as  a rule,  than  Titian 

219 


220  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcabems 


allowed  his  brush  to  be.  There  is  not  always  about 
them  that  air  of  well-being,  and,  at  least,  superficial 
good  breeding,  so  noticeable  in  the  elder  man’s  por- 
traits. On  the  other  hand,  they  do  not  search  the 
depths  as  do  the  greater  portraits  of  Lotto.  Tin- 
toretto expressed  what  he  saw,  and  also  what  he 
felt,  as  he  transferred  to  canvas  these  solid,  if  a 
trifle  heavy,  these  world-weary  yet  supremely  ac- 
tive, these  luxury-loving  men  of  affairs,  — men 
in  whose  hands  the  future  of  Venice  was  daily 
growing  more  precarious,  more  certainly  lost.  But 
as  for  probing  the  secrets  of  their  hearts,  attempt- 
ing any  psychologic  analysis  of  their  double  or 
single  motives,  — that  he  had  no  time  for.  He 
might  see  a hint  of  it  all  in  furtive  eye,  in  erect, 
suspicious  carriage,  in  overtense  movement,  in 
deepened,  tale-bearing  line.  Well  and  good,  into 
the  portrait  the  half-closed  lid,  the  watchful  air, 
the  furrowed  cheek,  the  weakened  mouth  would 
go,  and  you  could  draw  your  own  conclusions.  He 
was  far  too  intent  on  weightier  matters  to1  do'  it 
for  you,  or  to  give  any  fuller  answer  to  your  prob- 
ing questions.  The  portraits  here  of  senator,  am- 
bassador, procurator,  doge,  show  his  character- 
istics strongly.  They  are  business  men,  these  chiefs 
of  Venetian  public  life,  who,  in  spite  of  threescore 
years,  are  as  full  of  life  and  the  capacity  for  doing 
as  a youth  of  twenty.  But  they  show,  too,  almost 


SALA  DI  PAOLO  VERONESE 


IRoom  H£*  — Sala  M paolo  Veronese  221 


invariably,  the  effect  of  the  luxurious  life  of  the 
time.  They  are  active,  but  they  have  more  inter- 
est in  achieving  their  own  purposes,  in  filling  their 
own  pockets,  than  in  conserving  the  rights  of  others 
or  in  steering  their  ship  of  state  to1  a noble  course. 

Among  them  all  it  is,  perhaps,  invidious  to  pick 
out  any  few  for  special  description,  but  certainly 
one  of  the  most  famous  is  that  of  the  Doge  Alvise 
Mocenigo,  a picture  formerly  in  the  Ufffcio  dei 
Procuratori  di  Ultra.  It  is  a life-size,  little  more 
than  half-length  portrait,  and  represents  the  doge 
sitting,  turned  three-quarters  to  the  left,  his  eyes 
turned  in  the  opposite  direction,  his  hands  resting 
lightly  on  the  arms  of  the  chair.  His  robes  are 
brown,  and  the  whole  picture  is  a symphony  of 
brown  and  gray.  The  doge  has  his  ducal  cap  on 
his  head,  his  beard  is  long  but  thin,  showing  plainly 
his  full-pursed  lips.  His  large,  watchful  eyes,  long, 
heavy  nose,  and  the  somewhat  bloated  flesh  under 
his  eyes,  indicate  a coarseness  of  fibre  in  the  sitter 
that  history  does  not  contradict. 

Extremely  vigorous  in  delineative  power  is  the 
Portrait  of  a Man,  shown  standing,  clad  in  a belted, 
full  black  jacket  bordered  with  ermine,  a white 
collar  over  the  fur  at  his  neck.  He  is  facing  three- 
quarters  to*  the  left,  his  eyes  turned  to  the  spectator, 
an  opening  in  the  wall  beside  him  displaying  a 
roughly  executed  landscape,  and  at  the  right  be- 


222 


Ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcabem$ 


hind  him  a drapery  of  green  tones.  He  is  of 
middle  age,  with  short  dark  hair  banged  irregu- 
larly across  his  high  but  rather  narrow  forehead, 
his  short  beard  and  moustache  not  fully  covering 
the  upper  lip.  The  lids  are  heavy,  the  nose  fleshy 
and  long.  The  effect  is  that  of  an  inactive,  stub- 
born personality.  The  colouring  of  the  flesh  is 
reddish,  and  the  whole  picture  is  painted  with  that 
surety  and  ease  which  were  Tintoretto’s  birth- 
dower. 

The  portrait  of  Antonio  Cappello,  Procurator  of 
San  Marco  in  1525,  has  been  ascribed  to  Titian,  and 
also  to  Mazza.  If  it  is  Tintoretto’s,  it  is  probably 
an  early  work,  showing  a solidity  but  hardness  of 
modelling  characteristic  of  his  youthful  style. 
It  represents  a middle-aged  man  with  graying  hair 
and  beard,  in  a claret-coloured  robe  bordered  with 
ermine,  his  right  hand  held  out  before  him.  The 
tones  are  luminous  against  the  dark  background, 
and,  as  one  critic  aptly  remarks,  he  looks  quite  the 
modern  Englishman. 

Marco  Grimani  is  another  of  somewhat  doubtful 
attribution.  It  has  even  been  given  to  Palma  the 
Younger.  It  is  a life-size,  half-length  portrait,  dis- 
playing the  procurator  standing,  turning  three- 
quarters  to  the  right,  his  head  to  the  left.  His  hair, 
beard,  and  moustache  are  white,  his  loose  robe  a 
dark  red  brocade  bordered  with  ermine.  His  right 


PORTRAIT  OF  A MAN 

By  Tintoretto 


IRoom  H£\  — Saia  6t  paoio  Veronese  223 


hand  holds  a white  handkerchief  or  scarf.  Pier- 
cing eyes  look  out  from  under  shaggy  brows,  and 
give  life  and  thought  to  an  otherwise  heavy  and 
ordinary  face. 

Andrea  Cappello,  another  Procurator  of  San 
Marco,  is  depicted  richly  dressed  in  a garnet  gown, 
ermine-edged,  with  black  hair  and  white  beard  and 
moustache,  his  body  facing  three-quarters  to  the 
right,  his  face  turned  full  to  the  spectator.  At  the 
right  is  a column,  on  which  is  an  escutcheon  and 
the  letter  A, 

More  noted  is  Battista  Morosini,  a canvas  which 
is  a study  in  gray  greens.  The  figure  is  standing 
before  a wall,  three-quarters  turned  to  the  left,  the 
gaze  regardful,  keen,  the  black  hair  and  white 
beard  and  moustache  making  a strong  contrast,  and 
furnishing  the  only  vigorous  accents  in  this  nearly 
one-toned  picture.  At  his  left  is  a green  drapery, 
at  the  right  a distant  view  of  a landscape  which 
carries  out  the  green  note  of  the  composition. 

Beside  the  portraits  in  this  room,  there  are  many 
religious  pictures  by  Tintoretto,  most  of  which, 
however,  do  not  show  the  master  at  his  finest  ex- 
pression. 

In  one  of  these,  the  Virgin  Enskyed  with  St. 
Cosmo  and  St.  Damian  in  Adoration,  there  is  to  be 
found  little  real  feeling,  or  any  high  conception 
of  the  requirements  of  a sacred  composition.  The 


224  XLbe  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Ecabents 


Madonna,  herself,  however,  is  wonderfully  tender 
and  lovely,  despite  her  gigantic  figure  with  its 
Michelangelesque  strength  and  commandingness. 
Seldom  did  Tintoretto'  succeed  in  expressing  such 
womanly  charm  and  beauty.  Not  less  exquisite  is 
the  little  Christ,  leaning  forward  on  her  lap,  gazing 
intently  at  the  scene  below.  If  this  part  of  the  pic- 
ture could  be  cut  out  and  taken  away  from  the 
lower  mass,  with  its  turbulent  clouds  and  its  ex- 
cited saints,  it  would  undoubtedly  be  considered 
one  of  Tintoretto’s  most  inspired  works.  As  it 
is,  the  composition  is  badly  spotted,  the  saints  are 
bent  and  twisted  in  an  unexplained  furor,  and  the 
whole  thing  strikes  a strident,  theatric  note. 

In  the  upper  left-hand  corner  sits  Mary,  on  roll- 
ing clouds,  her  foot  resting  on  the  crescent  moon. 
She,  as  well  as  the  Child  in  her  arms,  is  bent  for- 
ward, looking  at  the  two1  saints,  Cosmo  and 
Damian,  who  kneel  on  the  ground  far  below,  at 
the  right  and  left.  The  Madonna  is  so  far  above 
their  heads  that  it  is  evident  they  have  difficulty 
to  see  her  at  all.  This  necessitates  such  a strained 
position  that  they  appear  in  momentary  danger  of 
falling  backward.  Between  them  and  the  Ma- 
donna, amidst  a mass  of  clouds  at  the  left,  is  St. 
Cecilia,  her  hand  on  her  breast,  her  head  lifted 
high  in  profile,  gazing  distractedly  at  the  Madonna, 
her  small  pipe-organ  on  the  clouds  beside  her. 


IRoorn  Iff,  — Sala  M paolo  Veronese  225 


At  the  right  are  seen  St.  Theodore  holding  a stand- 
ard, and  another  saint  pressing  a child  to  his 
breast.  St.  Theodore  is  in  full  armour,  and,  with 
extended  hand,  seems  presenting  the  two  kneeling 
ones  below  to  the  Madonna.  About  in  the  sky  are 
cherubim  and  seraphim. 

The  colour  of  this  picture  is  rather  vivid,  em- 
phasized by  the  masses  of  white  clouds,  and  the 
lighting,  as  well  as  the  action  of  the  figures,  is 
positively  violent  in  its  contrasts  and  movements. 

The  Madonna  with  Sts.  Theodore,  Sebastian, 
and  Mark  Adored  by  Three  Senators  reveals  the 
Madonna  sitting  at  the  top  of  a low  flight  of  steps, 
holding  Jesus  on  her  knees,  with  St.  Joseph  behind 
her.  On  a step  at  the  left  is  St.  Sebastian,  sitting, 
pierced  with  arrows,  arms  bound  to  a pillar.  On 
the  other  side  are  St.  Theodore,  in  armour,  and 
St.  Mark  below  him.  Before  this  group  in  the 
foreground  kneel  the  three  senators,  one  of  whom 
is  spokesman,  and  back  of  them,  at  the  right  of 
the  composition,  are  their  attendants  with  the  bags 
of  gold.  A portico  with  three  rows  of  pillars  is 
at  the  left,  behind,  a landscape  at  the  right. 

The  three  senators  are  marvels  of  portraiture, 
executed,  it  seems  certain,  with  a fidelity  of  obser- 
vation that  leaves  no  doubt  of  their  faithfulness 
to  life.  The  Madonna  has  a noble  figure,  with  un- 


226  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  IDentce  Hcabem>? 


idealized  face,  but  with  dignity  and  stateliness  of 
bearing. 

The  Pieta  is  an  impressive,  nobly  conceived  com- 
position, full  of  a weird,  unplaceable  light  that  em- 
anates from  one  knows  not  where.  The  chiaros- 
curo is  powerfully  treated,  the  strong  light  on  the 
dead  Saviour’s  body  and  the  Madonna’s  face  bal- 
ancing with  dramatic  intensity  the  deep  shadows 
flung  over  the  others  in  the  scene,  as  well  as  the 
impenetrable  depths  in  the  landscape  that  serves 
as  background.  In  this  representation  of  the  De- 
position, Tintoretto  has  kept  himself  somewhat 
more  in  hand  than  usual  with  his  impetuous  nature. 
The  only  figure  of  the  five  here  portrayed  that  can 
be  accused  of  expressing  emotion  too  violently  is 
Mary  Magdalen,  and  even  she  shows  a certain 
amount  of  restraint  in  her  grief.  As  a composition, 
its  lines,  massing,  and  chiaroscuro  are  masterly. 

At  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  leaning  against  the 
cross,  Mary  has  been  sitting,  the  body  of  her  sac- 
rificed Son  across  her  knees.  The  moment  por- 
trayed shows  her  fallen  back,  fainting  from  her 
agony  of  grief,  into  the  arms  of  a woman,  who  is 
leaning  tenderly  over  her.  At  the  same  time  a 
disciple  standing  behind  the  two  has  just  caught 
Jesus  under  his  arms,  preventing  his  falling  to  the 
ground.  Behind  all  these  in  the  centre,  Mary 
Magdalen  is  shown,  leaning  over  the  group,  her 


IRoom  If.  — Sala  M paoio  Veronese  227 


arms  spread  wide  in  terror  and  despair.  The  land- 
scape is  bathed  in  darkness,  with  only  a glimmer 
in  sky  or  on  the  distant  plain  to  break  the  mystery 
of  gloom. 

With  his  customary  ignoring  of  the  traditions, 
Tintoretto  has  shown  here  no  emaciated,  thin- 
chested  Christ.  The  dead  'man’s  figure  is  noble 
in  its  strength,  with  beautifully  modelled  arms, 
chest,  and  legs,  the  concentration  of  light  that 
sweeps  so  irresistibly  over  it  emphasizing  the  per- 
fection of  the  superb  physique. 

Still  more  affecting  and  remarkable  is  the  Cru- 
cifixion, a much  smaller  canvas  than  the  great  one 
in  San  Rocco.  In  parts  it  seems  only  a variation 
of  that  in  the  Scuola,  but  it  has  figures  and  inci- 
dents of  its  own  that  are  worthy  of  highest  praise, 
even  if  one  cannot  quite  follow  Ruskin  in  his 
eulogium  of  it.  The  canvas  was  painted  for  the 
Church  of  SS.  Giovanni  and  Paolo,  and  it  is  gener- 
ally titled  Tintoretto’s  second  Crucifixion. 

In  the  centre  in  the  foreground,  at  the  foot  of  the 
cross,  which  with  its  burden  rears  far  above,  is  a 
group  of  women  about  Mary,  who  is  prostrate, 
half-insensible  in  her  grief.  At  the  left  are  other 
women  and  a child,  paying  scant  attention  to  the 
cross,  and  still  farther,  at  one  side,  a standard- 
bearer  with  flying  flags.  Beyond  are  Jews  and 
Romans,  some  on  horseback,  others  on  foot.  At 


228  ube  Brt  ot  tbe  tPenice  Bcabentp 


the  right  is  a knight,  mounted  on  a white  horse, 
whose  plunges  would  seem  to  be  in  danger  of 
throwing  him  out  of  the  canvas.  The  knight  is 
supposed  to<  be  a portrait  of  Tintoretto  himself. 
This  spirited  horse  with  its  rider  has  received  more 
unstinted  praise  than  any  other  part  of  the  picture. 
Never  before,  it  has  been  said,  has  there  been 
shown  on  canvas  such  a horse  as  that.  Below  this 
charger,  in  front,  three  men  are  doubled  up  over  a 
game  of  dice,  so  entirely  absorbed  that  they  see 
neither  the  agony  about  them  nor  the  plunging 
animal  near. 

In  this  composition,  the  crosses  bearing  the  two 
thieves  are  placed  in  profile  on  either  side  of  Jesus. 
The  twisted,  contorted  limbs  and  terror  of  face  and 
figure  of  the  two  malefactors  are  sharply  contrasted 
with  the  sunken  head,  the  quiet  suffering,  that  al- 
lows not  so  much  as  the  quiver  of  a muscle,  of  the 
Man  of  Sorrows.  He  does  not  even  pay  the  slight- 
est attention  to  the  two  executioners  who  are  de- 
scending the  ladder  which  is  placed  against  the 
cross.  The  sky  is  dark,  and  over  all  is  an  atmos- 
phere of  bluish  gray  that  gives  a strange,  myste- 
rious aspect  tO'  the  whole  scene. 

As  in  the  San  Rocco  Crucifixion,  Tintoretto  has 
shown  his  usual  disregard  for  all  traditions  as  to 
the  manner  of  presenting  the  scene.  The  vast 
crowd  of  the  populace  exhibit  the  indifference  or 


IRoont  Uf,  — Sala  M paolo  IDeronese  229 


the  merely  superficial  interest  that  would  be  natural 
to  such  a gathering.  Only  the  immediate  followers 
of  Jesus  himself  are  depicted  as  feeling  any  real 
sorrow,  or  even  realizing  the  meaning  of  this  Cru- 
cifixion. This  fidelity  to  what  must  have  been  the 
actual  state  of  things,  gives  by  its  very  reality  a 
greater  pathos  and  deeper  sense  of  tragedy. 

The  Madonna  with  Three  Saints  and  Three 
Treasurers  is  really  a portrait  group  much  more 
than  it  is  a religious  picture.  In  it  are  seen  all  the 
great  attributes  that  Robusti  possessed  as  portrait- 
painter.  The  earnestness,  solidity,  the  insight  into 
character,  the  power  to  make  these  likenesses  fairly 
teem  with  life,  joined  to  a restraint,  a sobriety,  a 
simple  honesty,  all  are  characteristics  of  Tintoretto 
as  a delineator  of  the  men  of  Venice,  and  all  are 
found  in  both  this  and  another  canvas  of  like 
nature,  St.  Justina  and  Three  Senators  with  their 
Secretaries. 

Here  are  six  portraits  of  men  of  varying  years, 
from  the  white-bearded  secretary  who  is  gazing 
so  curiously,  almost  defiantly,  at  the  saint,  to  the 
mere  boy  whose  head  peers  above  his.  The  three 
treasurers  in  front,  who  stand  in  a rather  stiff  line 
across  the  foreground,  are  all  men  of  early  middle 
life,  and,  in  spite  of  their  similar  positions  and 
almost  identical  cut  of  beard  and  hair,  they  are 
three  distinct  and  firmly  characterized  portraits  of 


230  ZTbe  Brt  of  tbe  Dentce  Bcabemp 


three  different  personalities.  The  positions  of  their 
hands,  all  six  of  which  Tintoretto  rather  unwisely 
allowed  to  show  beneath  their  robes  of  state,  are 
the  least  excellent  part  of  the  composition.  St. 
Justina,  mounted  on  a rock  at  the  right,  standing 
above  them,  is  a majestic  woman,  with  the  grand 
lines  and  full  modelling  of  a figure  by  Michelangelo. 
She  is  lifting  out  her  yellow  mantle  as  if  to  shield 
the  three  secretaries  beneath  its  folds. 

The  Woman  Taken  in  Adultery  is  also'  in  this 
room,  and  has  been  considered  one  of  Tintoretto’s 
greatest  works.  The  portraitlike  character  and  the 
splendid  massing  of  the  many  heads  so  nearly  on  a 
line,  the  management  of  the  chiaroscuro,  and  the 
beauty  and  tenderness  of  the  woman  with  the  child, 
are  certainly  all  Tintoretto  at  his  best.  But  the  face 
of  Jesus  is  as  certainly  very  unsatisfactory,  with 
little  of  real  nobleness  or  beauty.  The  woman  who 
has  been  brought  to  be  condemned  is  hardly  more 
successful.  She  has  little  about  her  to  call  for 
comment  except  a sort  of  silly  prettiness  that  might 
go  with  the  supposed  weakness  of  her  character. 
Much  more  of  power  and  character-drawing  is 
shown  in  the  man  who'  leads  her  forward,  called 
by  some  her  deceived  husband.  His  bowed  figure 
and  lined,  troubled  face  are  well  worthy  of  the 
painter,  than  whom  no  one  better  portrayed  mid- 
dle-aged men.  The  young  mother,  who  stands  at 


IRoom  — M paolo  Veronese  231 


the  left  of  these  two  drawing  her  small  boy  close 
to  her  as  if  to  shield  him  from  all  harm,  is  much 
finer  in  face  and  expression  than  most  of  Tin- 
toretto’s women.  The  delicate  oval  of  her  face, 
the  lovely  curves  of  lip,  the  shadowed  eyes,  the 
forehead  off  which  the  hair  grows  so  prettily,  all 
proclaim  her  right  to  be  called  beautiful.  Her 
tender  air  of  loving  motherhood  and  the  sadness 
in  her  expression  add  still  more  to  the  charm  of  her 
personality. 

The  picture  is  a long  panel,  showing  the  figures 
little  more  than  half-length.  At  the  right  Jesus 
sits,  his  body  to  the  left,  his  head  turned  to  the 
right  toward  an  old  man  standing  in  profile  next 
him.  Before  him  is  the  youthful  sinner,  pushed 
forward  by  the  middle-aged  man,  who'  may  be  her 
husband.  She  wears  a crimson-brocaded  waist,  a 
yellow  fichu,  a green  skirt,  and  a white  head-dress. 
The  man  is  in  a rose-coloured  mantle  that  falls  in 
big,  clumsy  folds  about  him.  The  mother  and 
child  are  at  his  left,  and  back  of  these  is  the  crowd 
of  disciples  and  listeners. 

Most  of  Veronese’s  works  in  the  Academy  are 
in  Room  9,  which,  in  honour  of  him,  is  called  Sala 
di  Paolo  Veronese.  Of  them  all  by  far  the  most 
famous  is  the  Feast  in  the  House  of  Levi.  But  of 
the  others  there  are  many  that  in  part  or  whole 
show  the  master  not  far  from  his  highest. 


232  Zfte  Hrt  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabemp 


The  two  panels  representing  the  four  apostles 
were  once,  it  is  said,  four  corners  in  a ceiling  deco- 
ration in  S.  Niccolo  della  Luttuga,  of  which  deco- 
ration the  People  of  Mira  Going  to  Meet  St.  Nich- 
olas, now  also  in  this  room,  was  the  central  panel. 

The  apostles  are  splendidly  posed,  and  are 
sharply  individualized,  John  on  his  eagle  being 
particularly  interesting,  with  his  youthful,  vigorous 
face  and  figure.  A beautiful  golden-haired  angel 
is  kneeling  beside  St.  Matthew,  reading  from  a 
scroll,  which  they  both  hold.  The  graceful  lines 
of  his  drapery  and  contour  are  marred  by  a rather 
heavy  left  leg. 

The  People  of  Mira  is  a round  canvas  sur- 
rounded by  the  heavy  stucco  framing  of  the  ceil- 
ing, and  is  chiefly  remarkable  for  the  vigour  of 
action  and  curious,  but  excellent,  placing  of  the 
eight  middle-aged  men  against  the  sky. 

The  four  pictures  representing  scenes  from  the 
life  of  St.  Christina,  who,  in  spite  of  divers  tortures, 
refused  to  return  to  the  worship  of  the  heathen 
gods  of  her  father,  are  painted  in  the  silvery  key 
that  is  Veronese’s  own,  and,  though  they  are  pic- 
tures of  a decidedly  worldly  and  beautiful  Venetian 
woman  of  Veronese’s  time  rather  than  of  a pale 
and  suffering  martyr,  they  have  the  atmospheric 
clearness,  the  transparence  of  colour,  and  the  sim- 
ple realism  characteristic  of  the  painter.  In  some 


IRoont  Iff*  — Sala  M Paolo  Veronese  233 


of  them  there  is  a superabundance  of  drapery  with 
an  exaggeration  of  gesture  that  recalls  Paolo’s  fol- 
lowers rather  than  himself. 

The  Crucifixion  in  this  room,  which  Ruskin  said 
ought  to  be  taken  down  and  burned,  does  not  com- 
pare even  remotely  with  the  same  subject  by  Vero- 
nese in  the  Louvre,  and  it  does  seem  to  merit  some 
of  the  stringent  condemnation  that  others  beside 
the  Englishman  of  letters  have  bestowed  upon  it. 
It  is  to  be  conceded  that  unless  a picture  represent- 
ing the  Crucifixion  has  within  itself  elements  of 
tragic  passion,  of  religious  fervour,  and  of  unmis- 
takable and  deep  feeling,  it  has  no  excuse  for  being. 
If  it  be  simply  an  excellent  portrayal  of  plein  air , of 
figures  of  handsome  men  and  women,  making  a 
more  or  less  successful  grouping  and  composition, 
then  the  three  crosses  might  better  be  eliminated, 
or  changed  to  something  else,  and  a new  title  ap- 
pended to  the  picture.  Atmospheric  feeling,  fine 
colour,  natural  and  inevitable  grouping,  Veronese 
could  hardly  fail  to  achieve.  But  it  is  easy  to  be- 
lieve that  the  sombreness  and  tragedy  of  the  Great 
Sacrifice  were  opposed  to  his  sunny,  light-hearted 
nature,  and  it  is  only  occasionally,  as  in  the  one 
in  the  Louvre,  that  he  does  show  unexpected  pathos 
and  true  depths  of  feeling. 

In  this  in  the  Academy  the  foreground  and 
actual  centre  of  interest  is  taken  up  by  a group 


234  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabem# 


of  executioners  sitting  on  the  ground  in  evident 
fright  and  terror  at  the  approaching  storm,  and 
by  a cavalier  mounted  on  a prancing  steed.  In  the 
middle  of  the  second  plane  is  seen  a crowd  of  men, 
women,  and  children,  some  on  foot,  some  mounted, 
rushing  away  in  a panic  from  the  scene.  At  the 
right,  entirely  unmoved,  sitting  by  a fountain,  are 
some  women.  Only  at  the  left,  really  almost  in  the 
distance,  are  the  three  crosses.  An  executioner 
mounted  on  the  ladder  is  about  to  nail  the  inscrip- 
tion over  the  head  of  Christ.  At  the  foot  of  the 
cross  are  the  Magdalen,  a beautiful  figure  rather 
theatrically  posed,  the  centurion  kneeling  with  his 
pike  over  his  shoulder,  and,  fainting  in  the  arms 
of  her  women,  the  Mother. 

Undoubtedly  this  portion  of  the  picture  is  not 
the  most  important  part  of  it,  compositionally  con- 
sidered, and  thus,  from  artistic  as  well  as  religious 
reasons,  it  can  be  condemned. 

The  Assumption  of  the  Virgin  is  a circular- 
topped,  tall  panel,  showing  the  Virgin  with  angels 
and  cherubs  in  the  clouds,  and  below,  the  open 
tomb  with  the  affrighted  apostles  gathered  around 
it.  This  was  painted  for  the  high  altar  of  Santa 
Maria  Maggiore.  The  colouring  is  both  strong  and 
delicate,  cold  and  transparent.  The  group  below  of 
apostles  and  friends  is  firmly,  almost  brutally  ex- 
pressed in  its  deep  and  resonant  tones,  while  the 


IRoom  !£♦  — ©ala  01  Paolo  Veronese  235 


heavenly  vision  above  has  an  airy  lightness  and 
translucent  brilliance  that  admirably  suggests  the 
vast  difference  between  these  celestial  dwellers  and 
the  earth-born  ones  below. 

The  varying  attitudes  and  expressions  of  the 
wondering  and  fearing  disciples  are  superbly  dis- 
played without  the  exaggeration  of  which  Tin- 
toretto was  so  often  guilty.  Mary,  whose  billow- 
ing folds  of  white  mantle  are  held  up  by  two  charm- 
ing, wide-winged  angels,  is  a radiant  vision,  but 
hardly  remarkable  for  her  spirituality  of  expres- 
sion. Especially  lovely  are  the  two  tiny  baby  an- 
gels clasping  her  knees,  one  entirely  back  to,  the 
other  in  profile,  his  round,  earnest  little  face  turned 
three-quarters  out  to  the  spectator.  Myriads  of 
cherubs  circle  about  the  group,  while  slightly  below 
are  three  delightful  little  angels  playing  on  musical 
instruments.  Altogether  it  is  rather  fuller  of  re- 
ligious feeling  than  usual  with  Veronese.  Unfor- 
tunately, however,  it  is  much  restored. 

A not  dissimilar  composition  is  the  Virgin  in 
Glory.  In  the  sky,  in  the  midst  of  a silvery,  golden 
cloud,  is  Mary,  holding  on  her  knees  the  Child,  who 
is  leaning  forward,  watching  the  scene  taking  place 
below.  Here  is  St.  Dominick  on  a low,  marble 
platform,  distributing  roses  which  an  angel  kneel- 
ing beside  him  is  presenting.  On  each  side  is  a 
kneeling  concourse  of  dignitaries,  among  whom  are 


236  Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  IDenice  Eeabem^ 


seen  an  emperor,  a Pope,  a doge,  a cardinal,  all 
waiting  for  the  holy  flowers.  Back  of  them  is  a 
blossoming  hedge. 

The  Virgin  has  a sweet  serenity  of  expression, 
but  the  greatness  of  the  picture  lies  in  its  fore- 
ground group,  where  every  face  and  figure  seem 
a living  portrait.  The  panel  was  painted  for  the 
Society  of  the  Rosary  at  S.  Pietro  Martire  de 
Murano. 

The  Battle  of  Lepanto,  or  of  Curzolari,  as  it  is 
called,  is  a glorification  of  the  fight  at  sea  when 
the  Turks  were  defeated  by  Don  John  of  Austria 
in  1571.  The  whole  lower  half  of  the  canvas  shows 
a very  forest  of  masts  and  yard-arms  rising  above 
the  crowding  galleys  so  huddled  and  jammed  that 
it  is  impossible  to  distinguish  Turk  from  Christian. 
This  portion  is  very  dark  and  roughly  painted. 
Dark  streaks,  rays  of  light,  and  burning  arrows  are 
descending  from  heaven  on  to  these  fighting  sea- 
men. Above  in  the  clouds  are  seen  the  Madonna 
listening  to  the  pleas  of  the  protecting  saints  of 
Venice,  St.  Peter,  keys  in  hand,  St.  Roch  with  his 
staff,  St.  Justina,  crown  on  her  head  and  a poignard 
in  her  hand,  and  St.  Mark  with  his  lion  by  his 
side.  Back,  at  the  right,  are  a choir  of  angels,  and 
a single  one,  who  is  sending  the  flaming  arrows 
downward. 

This  is  curious  rather  than  beautiful,  though  the 


IRoom  If*  — ©ala  M paoio  IDetonese  237 


angels  and  Mary  have  a delicacy  of  form  and  col- 
our tellingly  contrasted  with  the  battle-bathed  ships 
below. 

The  Coronation  of  the  Virgin  is  another  subject 
which  was  a favourite  with  the  Italian  painters, 
but  which  Veronese  was  less  fitted  to  portray  than 
most  of  the  artists  of  the  Renaissance.  Of  the  one 
in  this  room,  Sir  Charles  Eastlake  says,  “ Colour, 
design  and  technical  skill  of  execution  seem  wasted 
upon  this  large  work,  which  but  for  the  sacred 
title  it  has  might  be  compared  to  the  transforma- 
tion scene  in  a theatrical  extravaganza.” 

Above  in  a glory,  kneeling  on  clouds,  is  the  Ma- 
donna, dressed  in  a white  robe  embroidered  with 
blue,  a yellow  mantle  falling  ofif  her  shoulders  up- 
held by  two  kneeling  angels.  Behind  and  over 
her  are,  at  the  left,  Jesus,  represented  as  a young 
man,  and  God  the  Father,  a white-bearded,  heav- 
ily robed  old  man,  the  Holy  Spirit  in  the  shape  of  a 
dove  over  them,  and  all  about,  partly  lost  in  the 
glory  of  light,  unnumbered  cherubs.  Immediately 
below  this  group  is  another,  in  which  are  seen  a 
Pope,  King  David,  Jeremiah,  John  the  Baptist, 
St.  Andrew,  St.  Peter,  and  other  apostles,  and 
farther  back  in  the  light  a crowd  of  women.  Be- 
low these  comes  still  a third  assemblage,  wherein 
are  St.  Paul,  St.  Jerome,  St.  Clara,  St.  Cecilia, 


238  TLhc  Ert  of  tfoe  IDenice  Ecafcem# 


St.  Lucy,  St.  Catherine,  the  four  Evangelists,  St. 
Lawrence,  and  many  other  women. 

Here  Veronese  has  clothed  his  blessed  in  the 
richest  robes  of  patrician  Venice,  and,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  angels  attending  Mary,  there  is  little 
to  suggest  the  celestial  subject.  Mary  herself  has 
a sweetness  of  expression  that  is  of  a doll-like 
prettiness,  instead  of  being  lofty  or  ideal.  Through- 
out the  picture  there  is  vivid  characterization,  and, 
considering  the  subject,  with  its  impossibilities  of 
treatment,  extraordinarily  excellent  and  effective 
massing. 

The  Annunciation  is  fairly  vibrant  with  the  col- 
our harmonies  only  Veronese  knew  how  to  obtain. 
The  silvery  tones  of  the  marble,  the  transparence 
of  the  light,  clear  colours  of  costume  and  sky,  the 
splendour  of  architecture,  the  atmosphere  that  fills 
every  part  of  the  scene  and  surrounds  the  figures 
like  an  invisible  yet  fully  felt  envelope,  — all  this 
is  Veronese’s  own  particular  domain,  a domain 
in  which  he  seems  to  reign  alone. 

In  a gorgeous  vestibule  of  a marble  palace,  the 
Virgin  is  seen  at  the  extreme  right,  just  rising 
from  a prie-dieu.  With  hand  on  breast  she  is 
turning  to  the  left,  gazing  with  a mixture  of  sur- 
prise and  joy  toward  the  angel  of  the  Annunciation, 
who  is  approaching  from  the  other  end  of  the  hall. 
Nearer  the  centre,  over  one  of  the  marble  pillars, 


By  Paolo  Veronese 


IRoom  If*— Saia  M paolo  Veronese  239 


the  dove  of  the  Holy  Ghost  appears  in  a blaze  of 
light.  Courts  with  arcades  and  columns  open  be- 
yond this  first  vestibule,  giving,  in  the  distance,  a 
glimpse  of  a chapel  with  trees  and  sky. 

The  angel,  whose  wings  are  red  and  green,  is 
dressed  in  a yellow  and  orange-coloured  robe 
which  is  twisted  and  flying  about  him  as  if  blown 
by  the  rapidity  of  his  flight.  The  whole  posture 
and  movement  of  his  figure  are  indicative  of  swift 
and  unhindered  rush  through  the  air.  Mary  is 
not  overexpressive  in  face  or  figure.  There  is  more 
than  a hint  of  heaviness  in  each,  but  the  clear  bril- 
liance of  her  flesh-tones  and  the  soft  light  of  her 
eyes  make  her  a pleasing  example  of  the  type  of 
woman  Veronese  chose  oftenest  to  paint. 

The  Feast  at  the  House  of  Levi  hangs  at  one 
end  of  the  gallery,  and,  seen  through  the  door  from 
the  next  room,  its  atmospheric  reality  is  so  ex- 
traordinary that  it  seems  as  if  one  were  looking 
at  a real  scene  taking  place  before  one’s  very  eyes. 
This  marvellous  power  of  portraying  actuality  is 
one  of  the  greatest  attributes  of  Veronese. 

Though  the  picture  here  is  of  less  size  than  the 
famous  Marriage  at  Cana  in  the  Louvre,  it  is 
nevertheless  an  enormous  canvas,  holding  about 
fifty  life-size  figures.  The  setting  for  the  scene 
is  a marble  loggia,  or  portico,  divided  into  three 
arcades  separated  by  grained  marble  Corinthian 


240  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcabent£ 


columns  and  pilasters.  Beyond  are  seen  the  white 
palaces  and  towers  of  a possible  Venice,  and  be- 
yond all  the  pulsating  blue  of  the  Venetian  sky. 
At  the  right  and  left  in  the  foreground  a marble 
balustrade  marks  a flight  of  steps  that  lead  down- 
wards. Through  the  centre  of  the  gallery  runs  a 
damask-covered  table,  and  about  it  are  seated  the 
many  guests  at  supper.  In  the  centre,  facing,  is 
Jesus,  turned  to  his  left,  speaking  with  John,  who, 
dressed  in  red  and  blue,  is  next  him.  At  Jesus’ 
right  is  Peter,  clad  in  rose  and  gray,  and  at  the 
moment  helping  himself  from  the  dish  in  front  of 
him.  These  are  the  only  disciples  positively  to  be 
recognized.  But  all  down  the  long  line  of  table 
are  Venetian  guests  en  fete.  Crowds  of  servitors 
are  about,  some  waiting  on  the  feasters,  some  on 
the  steps,  some  climbing  on  the  wall  for  better  view. 

It  is  a gay  gathering,  and  even  in  its  present 
shape  scarcely  conforms  to  one’s  idea  of  the  meal 
which  the  Son  of  Man  took  in  the  house  of  the 
Levite.  As  Veronese  first  painted  it,  it  was  even 
further  removed  from  that  idea.  For,  though 
among  the  assemblage  are  still  visible  a clown  tor- 
mented by  a negro  boy,  a dog  sitting  gravely  back 
to,  and  servants  slyly  drinking  the  wine  from  the 
goblets,  worse,  or  more  amusing,  incidents,  which 
Veronese  originally  introduced,  he  was  obliged  to 
paint  out.  This  was  the  picture  which,  in  1573, 


FEAST  AT  THE  HOUSE  OF  LEVI 
By  Paolo  Veronese 


IRoom  ff*  — Sala  bi  Paolo  Veronese  241 


brought  him  before  the  officers  of  the  Inquisition. 
It  was  painted  for  the  Convent  of  SS.  Giovanni  e 
Paolo  to  replace  Titian’s  Last  Supper,  which  had 
been  destroyed  by  fire.  The  churches  and  church- 
men of  Venice  had  never  been  over  scrupulous  as  to 
the  requirements  of  a religious  picture.  Providing  it 
was  good  art,  and  could  be  given  some  sort  of  Bib- 
lical or  churchly  title  without  too  blazing  anachro- 
nism, they  were  generally  sufficiently  satisfied. 
But  this  great,  glowing,  sunlit  Venetian  feast,  with 
clowns  and  buffoons  and  monkeys  and  German 
drunkards,  — one  of  these  latter  heretics  shown 
actually  stanching  a bleeding  nose  in  the  presence 
of  the  Lord ! — this  was  really  too  much ! Besides, 
it  was  desirable  to  show  the  world,  and  Spain,  that 
Venice  was  no  lukewarm  Catholic.  Her  pious  ob- 
jections to'  such  a fine  big  picture  as  that  would 
surely  be  heralded  with  much  eclat,  and  might 
cover  up  some  other  heresies  more  essential  to 
Venetian  comfort! 

Paolo’s  answers  to  his  inquisitors  are  proof  con- 
clusive of  his  own  point  of  view.  That  point  of 
view  was  never  what  was  always  Mr.  Ruskin’s. 
As  a matter  of  convenience  to  his  patrons,  and 
because  it  was  the  custom,  Veronese  was  quite  will- 
ing to  adopt  any  name  for  a picture  given  him. 
But  as  for  making  his  picture  suit  the  ethical, 
moral,  or  spiritual  requirements,  the  story-telling 


242  Ube  Brt  ot  tbe  Venice  Bcabem^ 


demands  of  that  title  — that  was  another  matter. 
He  must  needs  fill  up  his  canvas  as  seemed  best  to 
him,  a painter.  And  a painter,  good  lords,  has  little 
to  do — had  ever  better  have  less  to  do — with 
morals  on  his  canvases.  In  his  last  excuses  he 
reminded  his  judges  that  he  was  but  following 
illustrious  examples,  and  that  even  Michelangelo, 
in  his  Last  Judgment,  on  the  walls  of  the  Pope’s 
chapel  in  Rome,  had  represented  all  the  sacred 
personages  nude.  Whereupon  the  court  asked  if 
he  thought  that  was  a proper  thing  to  do.  After 
which  Veronese  washed  his  hands  of  the  whole 
affair,  and  said  simply,  and  probably  with  weari- 
ness of  spirit  at  the  trivialities  of  the  proceeding, 
“ My  very  illustrious  lords,  I had  not  taken  such 
matters  into  consideration.  I paint  with  such  study 
as  is  natural  to  me  and  as  my  mind  can  compre- 
hend.” But  he  had  to*  paint  out  his  German  and  his 
monkey  and  other  objectionable  spots  within  the 
space  of  three  months,  and  at  his  own  expense.  If 
they  had  locked  him  up,  these  prudent  inquisitors, 
they  might  have  had  to  wait  long  before  he  could 
finish  such  another  glowing  scene  as  this ! 

Though  it  still  remains  true  that  this  princely 
banquet  suggests  little  of  the  pious  or  the  Biblical, 
either  in  its  ensemble  or  in  many  of  its  parts, 
nevertheless  Veronese  has  portrayed  here  a nobler 
Christ  than  have  many  of  the  so-called  religious 


IRoom  If.— Saia  fct  jpaolo  Veronese  243 


painters.  The  calm  beneficence  of  that  untroubled 
face  does  not  dwell  amidst  lines  of  weakness  and 
puerility.  If  not  the  head  of  the  Son  of  Man  as 
only  the  inner  thought  knows  him,  or  even  as  Rem- 
brandt has  portrayed  him,  it  has  a beauty  and  an 
impressiveness  that  linger  long  in  the  memory. 

Of  the  picture  as  a picture,  not  as  an  illustration 
for  story  or  verse,  it  can  only  be  said  to  be  one  of 
the  amazing  products  of  an  astounding  art.  Noth- 
ing truer,  more  living,  more  naturally  diverse,  more 
individually  and  actually  existing  than  these  half- 
hundred painted  figures  can  be  imagined,  save  an 
actual  living  concourse  of  just  such  people  in  just 
such  a palace,  under  just  such  a blue  Venetian  sky. 
And  then,  if  the  living  and  the  simulated  could  be 
compared,  would  not  the  picture  carry  off  the  palm 
for  beauty? 

To  pick  out  any  two  or  three  figures  from  the  rest 
is  like  making  invidious  comparisons.  But  did  one 
ever  see  in  any  hostelry  quite  such  a perfect  figure 
of  “ Mine  Host  ” as  he  in  gay-coloured  stripes 
leaning  against  the  pillar  at  the  right?  His  fat 
jollity  is  assuredly  a cure  for  all  blues  that  rise  from 
a sour  outlook  on  the  world.  And  the  Venetian 
steward  on  the  left,  who  is  giving  orders  with  so 
grand  an  air,  did  any  one  ever  catch  so  truly  the 
very  spirit  of  the  “ High  Born  Butler  ” ? But  it 
is  not  the  figures  only,  nor  yet  the  pearly,  graceful 


244  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcabemp 


architecture,  nor  even  the  gleaming  of  the  Adriatic 
sky.  It  is  all  of  these,  and  it  is  something  more : 
it  is  the  art  that  is  under  and  through  and  over 
all.  It  is  the  consummate  mastery  of  line  and  form 
and  colour  and  light  that  makes  the  marvel.  It  is 
an  art  as  modern  as  to-day,  and  it  was  the  art  of 
a man  who  lived  over  three  centuries  ago.  In  all 
the  Renaissance  it  stands  by  itself.  For  it  was 
not  the  art  of  Titian,  of  Bellini,  of  Michelangelo, 
of  Tintoretto  : it  was  the  man  Veronese's  own, 
and  if  it  did  not  have  some  of  the  things  the  art 
of  these  other  men  held,  it  had  others,  perhaps  in 
their  way  as  great.  And  as  art,  painter’s  art,  it 
may  almost  be  called  supreme. 

Most  of  the  remaining  pictures  in  this  room,  ex- 
cellent as  many  of  them  are,  and  at  times  showing 
better  workmanship  than  some  of  these  already 
mentioned,  are  by  men  whose  art  was  far  removed 
from  the  “ grand  style  ” of  the  greater  men  of  the 
Renaissance,  these  men  of  whom  Veronese  was  the 
latest  born.  Of  these  younger  and  smaller  men, 
the  Venetian  “ little  masters,”  the  three  members 
of  the  Bassano  family  are  among  the  most  note- 
worthy. Most  of  their  pictures  which  are  in  the 
Academy  are  in  Rooms  n and  14,  but  both  Jacopo 
and  Leandro  Bassano  have  a number  in  Sala  di 
Paolo  Veronese. 

The  founder  of  the  family,  or  school,  as  it  might 


IRoont  Iff*  — Sala  M ffmolo  Veronese  245 


better  be  termed,  was  Jacopo  da  Ponte,  called 
Bassano  from  his  birthplace  at  the  base  of  the 
Cadore  Alps.  He  began  his  artistic  career  by 
studying  the  works  of  Titian  and  Bonifazio  in 
Venice,  and  at  first  painted  in  their  manner.  But 
soon  returning  to'  his  native  town,  his  own  indi- 
viduality gradually  dominated  his  style  of  expres- 
sion, and  he  began  the  production  of  those  genre 
pieces  which  in  a way  recall  the  Dutch  school. 
Later  in  life  his  scheme  of  chiaroscuro,  his  forced 
shadows  and  brilliant  lights  suggest  Rembrandt. 
He  painted  the  homely  scenes  and  details  he  found 
about  him,  sometimes  making  them  accessory  to 
Scriptural  compositions,  sometimes  merely  using 
them  for  backgrounds  for  incidents  taken  from  the 
daily  life  of  the  people.  He  even  at  times  omitted 
figures  altogether,  showing  interiors  with  kitchen 
utensils,  a cat  and  a dog,  or  still  life,  somewhat 
in  the  spirit  of  the  French  Chardin. 

“ He  throws  a lucid  gray  over  his  landscape,” 
says  Kugler,  “ and  carries  the  eye  to  the  solemn 
twilight  spread  along  the  distant  horizon.”  “ His 
colours  are  . . . gemlike,  especially  his  greens, 
where  he  exhibits  a brilliancy  peculiar  to  himself. 
Occasionally  also  he  is  seen  in  silvery  tones  of  great 
charm.” 

Berenson  says  of  him,  that  “ without  knowing 
it,  and  therefore  without  intending  it,  Bassano  was 


! 


246  TTbe  Brt  of  tbe  \Dentce  Bcabetn^ 


the  first  Italian  who  tried  to  paint  the  country  as 
it  really  is,  and  not  arranged  to  look  like  scenery.” 
He  was  in  this  way  the  predecessor  of  the  land- 
scape-painters of  to-day.  In  place  of  the  grand 
style  of  the  golden  age  of  the  Renaissance  which 
was  far  below  his  attainments,  he  had  a homely, 
piquant  charm,  full  of  life,  vivacity,  and  colour, 
and,  be  it  remarked,  infinitely  nearer  the  compre- 
hension of  the  people  of  his  town  and  time  than 
the  greater  art  of  his  predecessors. 

His  two  sons,  Francesco  and  Leandro,  followed 
closely  in  his  steps  and  their  works  have  frequently 
been  confounded  with  their  father’s.  All  were 
skilful  painters  of  genre  and  of  landscape,  and 
Leandro,  especially,  was  a brilliant  portrait-painter. 
All  had  the  glowing,  “ gemlike  ” colour,  which,  in 
many  of  their  works,  has  lasted  unchanged  till  to- 
day; all  had  a feeling  for  atmosphere,  for  light 
and  shade,  that  gives  their  homeliest  works  a poetic 
charm  that  connoisseurs  have  greatly  praised. 

Two  of  Leandro’s  best  works  in  the  Academy, 
the  Resurrection  of  Lazarus  and  the  portrait  of 
Doge  Marcantonio,  are  in  Room  9.  The  first  of 
these  is  one  of  the  most  noted  of  his  large  religious 
compositions.  After  his  early  years  Jacopo  gen- 
erally painted  only  small  figures.  Leandro,  how- 
ever, often  chose  large  canvases,  with  the  figures 
even  over  life-size.  He  kept  the  style,  neverthe- 


By  Jacopo  Bassano 


IRoom  — M Paolo  IDeroneae  247 


less,  which  he  had  acquired  under  his  father’s 
tutelage,  showing  great  fondness  for  introducing 
animals  and  all  sorts  of  commonplace  details,  as 
well  as  for  brilliant  contrasts  of  light  and  shade. 

The  composition  of  this  picture  has  been  criti- 
cized as  being  somewhat  mechanical  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  figures,  but  the  figures  themselves 
are  painted  with  great  intelligence  and  considerable 
variety,  though,  taken  individually,  they  might,  as 
has  been  suggested,  be  transferred  to  some  other 
and  totally  different  scene  without  loss  of  mean- 
ing, which  is  an  indication  of  what  is  generally 
true  with  the  entire  family  of  the  Bassani.  They 
care  far  more  for  the  mise  en  scene , for  the  gen- 
eral effect  of  the  whole,  for  the  play  of  light  and 
shade,  for  the  charm  of  well- juxtaposed  colours, 
than  for  individual  dignity,  character,  or  expres- 
sion of  the  figures  making  the  composition.  It  is  a 
state  peculiar  to  the  time  rather  than  to  them. 
And  it  does  not,  somewhat  paradoxically,  hurt 
Leandro’s  powers  as  a painter  of  portraits.  While 
he  rarely  gets  “ below  the  skin,”  his  feeling  for  the 
picturesque,  his  power  of  copying  nature  with  ex- 
traordinary exactitude,  and  his  love  of  colour  and 
ability  in  the  treatment  of  chiaroscuro,  make  him 
one  of  the  best  portrait-painters  of  his  era,  and  far 
ahead  of  most  of  those  who  came  after  him.  It  is 
said  that  his  father  used  the  invention  of  his  son 


248  Ube  Brt  ot  tbe  IDenice  Bcabemp 


Francesco  in  the  composition  of  his  Biblical  scenes, 
and  the  hand  of  Leandro  when  he  had  a portrait 
to  paint. 

Coming  back  to  the  picture  once  more,  Jesus  is 
seen  standing  in  profile  at  the  left  of  the  tomb 
some  distance  from  the  foreground,  his  hand  lifted 
in  benediction,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Lazarus,  who  is 
being  lifted  by  two  men  from  the  sepulchre.  They 
are  removing  the  grave-wrappings  from  him,  and, 
as  he  half-sits  on  the  edge  of  the  tomb,  he  is  mostly 
nude.  There  is  a pallid  languor  about  his  form, 
a weakness  and  inertness  that  remarkably  express 
the  state  of  one  only  half-awakened  from  the  slum- 
bers of  eternity.  Mary  Magdalen  kneels  at  the 
left  of  the  tomb,  dressed  in  richest  robes  of  red  and 
green,  her  expression  as  well  as  her  voluptuous 
figure  scarcely  suggesting  the  repentant  sinner. 
At  the  right  a woman  with  a child  beside  her  is 
placing  a basket  on  the  ground,  and  behind,  on  all 
sides,  are  crowds  of  interested  spectators.  In  the 
left-hand  lower  corner,  only  part  of  his  figure 
showing,  is  a young,  richly  attired  man,  supposed 
to  be  Leandro  himself. 

A fair  example  of  Leandro’s  powers  as  portrait- 
painter  is  the  portrait  of  Doge  Marcantonio 
Memmi.  The  Venetian  is  sitting  in  a crimson- 
covered  chair  in  the  robes  of  his  office,  a cap  on  his 
head,  an  ermine  mantle  over  a brilliant  orange- 


IRoom  Iff*  — £ala  hi  ©aolo  Veronese  249 


coloured  tunic.  The  background  is  sage  green. 
The  doge  is  turned  three-quarters  to  the  left,  has 
a long  white  beard,  and  his  eyes  are  small  and 
keen,  quite  in  keeping  with  his  shrewd,  observant 
countenance. 

The  real  talent  of  men  like  the  Bassani  is  never 
more  apparent  than  when  comparing  their  work 
with  that  of  such  painters  as  Benedetto  and  Carlo 
Cagliari,  Palma  Giovane,  and  others,  who,  without 
the  genius  of  the  great  masters  of  the  Renaissance, 
attempted  to  imitate  their  style  and  manner.  The 
Bassani,  by  developing  their  own  individuality  and 
rigorously  abstaining  from  abject  copying  of  the 
greater  men  who  preceded  them,  have  left  an  in- 
finitely more  valuable  heritage  to  the  world  than 
these  others  who  simply  tried  to  mould  themselves 
on  the  pattern  set  by  the  giants  of  the  Renaissance. 

Benedetto  Cagliari,  brother  of  the  great  Paolo, 
and  Carlo,  or  Carletto,  his  son,  are  both  repre- 
sented at  the  Academy.  Benedetto,  who  was  a 
skilful  draughtsman,  and  was  always  of  great  as- 
sistance to  Paolo,  with  Carletto  helped  Veronese 
paint  the  ceiling-picture  of  the  Assumption,  now  in 
Room  4.  In  Room  9,  Benedetto  has  the  Last  Sup- 
per and  Christ  Before  Pilate.  He  was  a past 
master  in  perspective,  and  to  his  aid  is  due  much 
of  the  perfection  of  the  architectural  backgrounds 
of  Paolo’s  famous  pictures.  It  was  not  till  after 


250  Ube  Brt  ot  tbe  IDemce  Bcabein^ 


the  death  of  his  brother  that  Benedetto  began  to 
work  for  himself. 

The  Last  Supper  is  but  a feeble  imitation  of 
Paolo,  and  with  its  two  subjects,  the  Supper  and 
the  Washing  of  the  Disciples’  Feet,  has  a divided 
interest  that  detracts  from  the  compositional  unity. 

Christ  Before  Pilate  shows  the  Master,  dressed 
in  a red  robe,  bound  and  dragged  forward  under 
a portico  by  a soldier  and  four  executioners.  Be- 
fore him,  at  the  left,  sitting  on  a throne  raised  high, 
is  Pilate.  By  his  side  are  an  old  man,  two  women, 
and  a page  reading  a paper.  At  the  right  is  a 
crowd,  and  one  of  the  leaders,  a man  standing  back 
to,  in  a green  robe,  yellow  cloak,  and  lilac  turban, 
is  pointing  out  the  prisoner  to  the  others  pressing 
about  him.  Near  by  are  a horse  held  by  the  bridle 
and  a standard-bearer.  M.  Blanc  says  that  here  the 
gestures  of  Paolo  degenerate  into  mere  theatric 
mimicry,  and  that  Paolo’s  very  virtues  are  con- 
verted into  faults.  The  pillars  and  line  of  palaces 
in  the  distance  show  Benedetto’s  best  work.  Christ, 
though  weak,  is  not  without  some  beauty  of  face 
and  expression. 

Carletto  Cagliari  has  a number  of  works  here, 
the  most  important,  perhaps,  being  the  Way  to 
Calvary.  It  shows  Jesus,  fainting  under  the  weight 
of  the  cross,  with  Veronica  kneeling  beside  him, 
offering  her  handkerchief  to  wipe  away  the  sweat 


IRoom  !£♦  — Sala  M paoio  Veronese  251 


of  agony.  The  picture  has  some  interesting  faces, 
and  shows  the  technical  accomplishment  of  its 
painter.  But  it  is,  after  all,  nothing  but  a copy  of 
the  style  of  the  masters  under  whom  Carletto  had 
studied.  In  general,  it  may  be  said  of  most  of  his 
canvases  here  what  a French  critic  has  said  of  him, 
that  his  composition  is  colder  than  his  father’s,  his 
pencil  less  delicate,  because  it  is  less  sure,  his  colour 
sharper,  less  light;  but  he  does  show  some  charm- 
ing heads,  and  excellent  good  taste  and  a decided 
feeling  for  the  picturesque. 

Giacomo  Negretti,  called  Palma  Giovane,  the 
grandnephew  of  Palma  Vecchio,  was  born  in  1544, 
and  died  in  1628.  He  it  was  who  set  the  wheel 
of  the  Decadence  in  Venice  going  fast  and  furious. 
Though  he  has  been  called  the  last  painter  of  the 
golden  age,  it  is  truer,  as  has  also  been  said,  that 
he  was  the  first  of  the  Decadence.  After  studying 
at  Urbino  and  Rome  the  works  of  the  greatest 
masters,  he  returned  to  Venice  and  rapidly  ac- 
quired the  reputation  of  a painter  of  high  talent, 
a reputation  due,  perhaps,  to  the  rapidity  of  his 
execution  rather  than  to  any  inherent  greatness  in 
conception.  It  is  true  that  he  often  has  detail  of 
great  beauty  in  his  pictures,  and  some  of  his  heads 
are  lovely.  Especially  are  his  works  in  the  Oratory 
of  the  Crucifix  worthy  of  real  admiration.  After 
the  death  of  Veronese  and  Tintoretto,  Palma  was 


252  Zfte  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  BcabeniE 


left  supreme  in  Venice.  Molmenti  says  of  him, 
that  in  his  long  life  of  eighty-four  years,  with  his 
deplorable  rapidity  of  execution,  the  violently  dra- 
matic gestures  of  his  figures,  he  threw  the  art  of 
painting  into  mere  mannerism  and  opened  the  way 
to  the  delirium  of  the  seventeenth  century.  He 
has  a long  list  of  works  at  the  Academy,  some  of 
them  among  his  best,  but  all  showing  more  or  less 
the  exaggeration  into  which  he  sank  ever  deeper 
and  deeper.  It  was  as  if  by  his  forced,  violent 
gestures,  by  his  billowing  robes,  and  by  the  crowd- 
ing and  abandonment  of  action  of  his  figures,  he 
purposely  attempted  to  lead  the  attention  away 
from  the  lack  of  high  conception  and  careful  exe- 
cution. 

The  Triumph  of  Death,  in  this  room,  is  one  of 
his  best-known  canvases  in  the  Academy.  It  is 
a very  orgy  of  drunken  disaster.  On  the  right 
sits  St.  John,  clad  in  a red  robe  with  yellow  mantle, 
writing  in  a big  book  before  him.  He  has  paused 
in  his  task  and  turned  his  head  over  his  shoulder, 
gazing  fixedly  at  the  vision  which  he  sees  enacted 
before  his  eyes.  Out  of  a dragon’s  mouth,  along 
with  fire  and  smoke  comes  the  strangest  procession. 
First  are  three  knights  in  armour  on  galloping, 
snorting  steeds,  and  behind  them  Death,  in  the 
form  of  a skeleton,  riding  a wild  white  horse,  his 
scythe  in  his  hands,  mowing  his  victims  as  he 


IRoorn  II  |\  — Sala  bi  paolo  Veronese  253 


rides.  Below  these,  thrown  headlong  under  the 
trampling  feet,  are  kings,  emperors,  beautiful 
women,  the  pride  of  the  world  vanquished  for  ever. 

This  was  one  of  the  four  panels  which  Palma 
painted  for  the  Scuola  Grande  of  S.  Giovanni 
Evangelista,  representing  four  visions  of  the  Apoca- 
lypse. The  one  called  the  Choice  of  the  Twelve 
Hundred,  in  the  same  room,  depicts  the  angel  of 
the  Lord  marking  the  chosen  with  a cross.  This 
shows  a vast  number  of  friars  among  the  blessed, 
a natural  placing,  as  the  picture  was  ordered  by  a 
Fraternity! 

Bearing  a less  distinguished  name,  but  evincing 
really  greater  talent,  is  Padovanino',  the  painter  of 
the  Marriage  Feast  at  Cana  in  this  room. 

It  is  Signor  Molmenti  who  says  that  while  Vene- 
tian art,  like  a dethroned  sovereign,  was  daily 
growing  weaker  and  weaker  in  the  city  that  had 
viewed  her  greatest  majesty,  now  and  again,  in 
the  Venetian  provinces  would  be  signs  of  an  art 
more  alive,  with  more  noble  tendencies.  Verona, 
for  instance,  was  the  home  of  Dario  Varotari,  born 
in  1539,  a painter  who  studied  with  fervour  the 
works  of  Veronese,  and  who  left  in  that  city  and 
various  near-by  towns  examples  of  his  own  which 
have  grace  of  line  and  charm  of  pencil. 

Alessandro  Varotari,  his  son,  called  Padovanino 
in  honour  of  his  birthplace,  was  born  in  1590,  and 


254  Ube  Ert  of  tbe  Dentce  Ecabemp 


was  even  more  richly  endowed  artistically  than  his 
father.  Signor  Molmenti  does  not  hesitate  to'  call 
him  the  Master  of  the  Venetian  School  of  his  cen- 
tury. Other  critics  assign  him  a less  exalted  posi- 
tion, styling  him  rather  a weak  imitator  of  Titian. 
But  considering  the  decadent  state  of  art  in  his 
day,  it  is  not  too  great  praise  to  say  that  he  ranked 
high  in  a school  composed  mostly  of  mediocrities! 

Padovanino  lived  in  Venice  and  while  there  he 
studied  assiduously  the  works  of  Titian,  accom- 
plishing several  very  splendid  copies.  In  his  own 
canvases  he  makes  a distinct  and  not  unsuccessful 
attempt  to  imitate  the  great  master  in  his  group- 
ing, in  the  positions  of  his  figures,  and  in  his  colour 
schemes.  And  yet,  he  did  attain,  finally,  a style 
and  a colour  really  his  own,  even  if  founded  on 
assiduous  imitation  of  others.  His  contours  are 
delicate,  his  draperies  full  and  free  in  fold,  and  in 
all  his  best  works  there  is  shown  a nobility  of 
posture,  a beauty  of  face  and  form  that  are  not, 
after  all,  spoiled  because,  here  and  there,  are  most 
apparent  evidences  of  direct  copying  of  this  or  that 
famous  painter.  M.  Charles  Blanc  says  that  he 
may  be  regarded  “ as  a feminine  Titian,”  thus 
recognizing  his  grace  and  charm  as  well  as  his 
more  or  less  servile  imitation.  He  was,  acknowl- 
edges this  same  critic,  so  free  from  the  affectations 
and  mannerisms  of  his  time,  that  in  viewing  his 


IRoom  Iff*  — Sala  bt  Paolo  Veronese  255 


works  the  spectator  is  transported  to  the  days  of 
Titian,  of  Zelotti,  and  Veronese. 

The  Marriage  Feast  at  Cana  is  undoubtedly  his 
masterpiece.  It  recalls,  of  course,  in  treatment  as 
well  as  subject,  the  great  canvas  of  Paolo  Veronese. 
There  is  in  it,  however,  no  abject  imitation,  and 
Padovanino  has  chosen  also  an  entirely  different 
arrangement  of  composition.  The  scene  takes  place 
out-of-doors  before  a marble  palace  whose  terraced 
marble  steps  and  pillars  of  the  entrance-portico 
are  seen  at  the  extreme  right.  The  table,  instead 
of  being  placed  horizontally  across,  as  with  Vero- 
nese, is  slightly  at  the  left  of  the  picture,  and  ex- 
tends straight  back  into  the  distance.  It  leaves 
the  narrow,  unoccupied  end  in  the  immediate  fore- 
ground. By  this  arrangement  Jesus,  who  sits  at 
the  left,  is  brought  into  far  greater  prominence  than 
in  Veronese’s.  Next  him  is  Mary,  and  opposite 
are  the  bride  and  groom.  The  rest  of  the  guests 
fill  both  sides  of  the  table  beyond  these  four.  At 
the  right  a group  of  musicians  are  furnishing  en- 
tertainment for  the  feast,  while  in  the  foreground 
between  them  and  the  married  couple  a half-nude 
serving-man  is  pouring  wine  from  a jar.  At  the 
left,  and  placed  here  and  there  on  both  sides  of 
the  table,  are  young  serving-girls,  clad  in  bright- 
toned  flowing  robes.  Critics  have  complained  that, 
as  girls  were  never  waitresses  in  Jerusalem  in  the 


256  Uhc  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcafcemp 


days  of  Jesus,  he  was  guilty  of  an  anachronism  in 
depicting  them  as  such.  It  is  an  anachronism, 
however,  that  does  not  seem  unpardonable,  con- 
sidering the  usual  freedom  with  which  Venetian 
painters  depicted  historical  and  religious  scenes ! 
A lame  beggar,  half-lying  on  the  ground  in  front, 
slightly  at  the  left  of  Jesus,  is  being  tended  as 
carefully  as  if  he  were  one  of  the  invited  guests. 
Beyond  the  table  in  the  centre  is  a Greek  temple 
with  lines  of  cypress-trees  that  stretch  pointed, 
fingerlike,  against  the  sky.  The  vacant  end  of  the 
table,  occupying  almost  the  exact  centre  of  the 
foreground,  would  be  a bad  break  in  the  composi- 
tion if  Padovanino  had  not  filled  it  so  admirably 
with  the  majestic  figure  of  a woman.  She  is  stand- 
ing nearly  back  to,  with  her  figure  turned  toward 
Jesus,  her  head  twisted  to  the  right.  Her  right 
hand  is  pointing  to  the  Master,  and  she  seems  to 
be  directing  to  his  assistance  the  maids  standing 
behind  the  bridal  pair.  The  light  strikes  full  on 
her  bare  shoulder  and  left  arm,  leaving  her  profile 
in  the  shadow  that  slips  down  her  back,  across  her 
looped-up  skirts.  The  poise  of  her  finely  built 
figure  against  the  darker  background,  the  splendid 
lines  of  her  voluminous  rose  and  green  draperies, 
make  her  worthy,  as  many  critics  have  not  failed 
to  note,  of  the  brush  of  Titian  himself.  And  in- 
deed, the  whole  picture,  if  in  a gallery  with  fewer 


< 

£ 

< 

a - 

t-1  o 

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9 (S' 


IRoom  Iff*  — Sala  fci  paolo  Veronese  257 


masterpieces,  would  rank  as  one  of  the  chief  gems 
of  the  collection.  Here,  it  unquestionably  suffers 
from  the  proximity  of  too  many  greater  achieve- 
ments. But  it  has,  nevertheless,  very  decided  and 
high  claims  to  artistic  recognition.  Its  colour,  if 
less  glowing  than  the  Venetian  school  produced 
at  its  highest  expression,  is  pure,  brilliant,  sympa- 
thetic. Its  lines  of  composition  are  forcible,  grace- 
ful, and  telling.  The  drawing  and  modelling  and 
construction  of  the  figures  are  full  of  life,  surety, 
and  ease.  If  less  virile  than  a Tintoretto  or  a 
Veronese,  it  has  a subtle  tenderness  that  makes  it 
wonderfully  attractive.  And  the  earnestness  and 
sincerity  of  the  painter’s  purpose,  the  freedom  from 
exaggeration  and  from  mannerism,  make  it,  for  the 
epoch  in  which  it  was  produced,  a memorable  work. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


ROOM  X.  — SALA  DEI  BONIFAZI 

According  to  Berenson,  Cariani  has  at  least  one 
canvas  in  Room  io,  the  portrait  of  a blond-haired 
man  in  full  face,  with  reddish  beard  and  moustache, 
black  clothes,  white  shirt,  black  greatcoat  lined 
with  fur,  and  a black  cap.  His  left  hand  is  gloved, 
his  right  bare,  carrying  its  glove  and  resting  on  a 
pedestal  on  which  is  the  date  MDXXVI.  Accord- 
ing to  Morelli,  Cariani  had  great  gifts  as  a por- 
trait-painter, and  this,  though  not  equal  to  some  of 
his  portraits,  is  sufficiently  characteristic  to  give  a 
not  wholly  inadequate  idea  of  his  ability. 

With  the  exception  of  the  Holy  Family,  already 
described,  in  Room  7,  all  of  the  works  by  Palma 
Vecchio  owned  by  the  Academy  are  in  the  Sala  dei 
Bonifazi.  Of  these  the  Peter  Enthroned  is  possibly 
the  best  known. 

On  a raised  throne  of  coloured  marble  slabs  sits 
Peter  in  full  face,  holding  on  his  left  knee  the  open 
Scriptures,  in  which  he  is  pointing  out  a passage 
with  his  right  forefinger.  His  head  is  tipped  side- 

258 


ST.  PETER  ENTHRONED 

By  Palma  Vecchio 


IRoom  £♦  — Sala  Det  Bontfaji 


259 


wise,  his  eyes  are  slightly  downcast,  his  mouth 
under  its  moustache  and  beard  has  fallen  into 
mournful  curves,  and  his  whole  expression  is  one 
of  melancholy  introspection.  Behind  him  is  a flat 
red  drapery  held  by  an  olive-branch  which  ap- 
parently suspends  itself  across  a background  of 
sky.  At  each  side  and  slightly  in  front  of  the 
throne  stands  a saint,  John  the  Baptist  on  the  left, 
and  Paul  opposite.  John  is  in  a tunic  of  skins, 
with  a mantle  thrown  over  one  shoulder.  In  his 
left  hand  he  holds  his  tall,  slender  cross  of  reeds, 
about  which  is  attached  a scroll  bearing  a Latin 
inscription,  while  with  his  right  he  points  to  the 
lamb  lying  at  the  base  of  the  throne.  The  model- 
ling and  construction  of  this  figure  show  a mar- 
vellous blending  of  vigour  and  delicacy,  both  car- 
ried to  their  fullest  expression  in  the  intent,  mobile 
face  with  its  smiling  eyes  and  tender  mouth.  St. 
Paul,  though  less  of  a psychologic  revelation,  has 
a substantial  and  firm  dignity  of  mien  and  an  in- 
domitableness of  poise  scarcely  less  successfully 
indicated.  Behind  him  are  seen  St.  Titian  of 
Oderzo  and  St.  Justina,  and  back  of  John  the  Bap- 
tist are  St.  Mark  and  St.  Augustine.  The  two 
women  are  very  beautiful,  with  great  sweetness  of 
expression  joined  to  a spirituality  not  too  fre- 
quently seen  in  Palma's  women.  As  a whole,  the 
composition  is  one  of  power,  pathos,  and  charm, 


260  uhc  Hrt  of  tbe  IDenice  Hcabem^ 


with  a depth  of  feeling  not  so  far  below  the  won- 
derful Barbara.  In  colour  it  is  glowing,  golden, 
with  a skilfully  treated  chiaroscuro'  and  fine  ar- 
rangement of  draperies. 

Christ  and  the  Daughter  of  the  Woman  of 
Canaan  has  been  much  injured  by  restoration,  and 
one  at  least  of  the  disciples,  he  on  the  extreme 
right,  has  been  almost  entirely  repainted.  It  is 
an  oblong  panel,  showing  Jesus  standing  in  the 
midst  of  his  disciples,  his  hand  raised  blessing  the 
young  woman  who,  supported  by  her  mother, 
kneels  before  him.  The  figures  are  mostly  half- 
length,  and  the  hands  of  Jesus  and  his  followers 
are  very  nearly  on  a level,  straight  across  the  can- 
vas. Yet  so  well-arranged  are  they  in  pose  and 
so  varied  in  character,  and  so  full  of  life  and  action 
is  the  scene,  that  there  is  no  feeling  of  monotony 
or  lack  of  balance  in  the  composition.  All  of  the 
disciples,  with  possibly  one  exception,  are  repre- 
sented as  men  considerably  beyond  youth,  several 
of  them  white-headed  and  bald.  No  two1  are  alike, 
however;  each  one  is  depicted  with  the  individu- 
ality and  vigour  and  precise  characterization  of 
actual  portraiture.  Christ  is  the  least  satisfactory 
of  them  all,  for  though  his  face  shows  sweetness, 
sympathy,  and  purity,  it  is  deficient  in  strength, 
purpose,  and  real  spirituality.  Perhaps  the  most 
excellent  bit  of  characterization  about  him  is  his 


CHRIST  AND  THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  WOMAN  OF  CANAAN  (DETAIL) 

By  Palma  Vecchio 


IRoont  — Saia  £>et  JBomfasi 


261 


left  hand  drawing  his  heavy  robes  about  his  loins. 
The  fine  lines  of  the  wrist,  the  delicate  shadows 
marking  the  long,  slender  fingers,  the  combined 
strength  and  grace  in  the  tension  of  the  grasp, 
would  be  splendid  for  Titian  himself. 

Not  less  remarkable  are  the  two  women  at  the 
left.  The  daughter  is  kneeling,  her  lifted  face  in 
profile,  her  eyes  full  of  trouble,  her  clasping  hands 
and  her  entire  attitude  expressing  agonized  plead- 
ing. It  is  in  the  mother,  however,  that  Palma 
showed  himself  greatest.  She  stands  with  her 
hands  on  her  daughter’s  shoulders,  her  head,  with 
its  white  veil  that  falls  about  her  neck  and  breast, 
raised  beseechingly  to  the  Master.  Her  mouth  is 
open,  and  she  is  evidently  telling  her  sorrows  to 
the  listening  one.  This  is  no  fine  Venetian  society 
woman.  In  the  strained  cords  at  her  neck,  in  her 
contracted  brows,  in  her  searching,  begging  eyes, 
Palma  shows  the  throbbing  heart  of  motherhood 
pleading  for  her  child.  That  face  alone  would 
prove  the  height  Palma  could  reach,  and  would  be 
sufficient  evidence  that  he  was  no  mere  follower 
of  Titian  and  Giorgione.  The  colour  of  the  pic- 
ture, though  hurt  by  repainting  and  cleaning,  is 
clear,  brilliant,  and  full  of  light. 

The  Portrait  of  a Woman  has  been  credited  to 
Palma  Vecchio,  but  may  be,  as  the  official  cata- 
logue states,  by  Cariani.  It  is  a half-length  por- 


262  tlbe  Brt  ot  tbe  Dentce  Bcabem$ 


trait  of  a fleshy,  fair-haired  woman,  turned  three- 
quarters  to  the  left,  the  background  a green  cur- 
tain at  the  left  and  a landscape  at  the  right.  Her 
thick,  puffed  light  hair  comes  on  to  her  neck,  which 
is  bare  as  far  as  the  heavy  white  chemisette  gath- 
ered about  her  breast  above  her  red  gown.  The 
soft,  smooth  handling,  the  rather  immobile  ex- 
pression, the  eyes  that,  though  large  and  open, 
seem  to  say  little,  suggest  Palma  as  the  painter 
rather  than  Cariani,  especially  as  the  latter  almost 
always  idealized  his  portraits  of  women  sitters. 

The  Assumption  is  thought  to  be  an  early  work 
of  Palma,  if  it  be  his  at  all.  The  Madonna,  in 
a rose-coloured  robe  and  blue  mantle,  is  rising  into 
the  sky,  with  all  about  her  a choir  of  angels  play- 
ing on  musical  instruments.  Her  feet  seem  to  rest 
on  one  of  the  winged  messengers,  her  draperies 
are  flying,  her  arm  outstretched,  her  head  bent 
sidewise.  Below,  on  the  ground  gazing  up  with 
varying  expressions  of  surprise,  are  the  apostles. 
In  the  distance  on  a hill  is  a castle,  and  running 
down  the  path  from  it  to  join  his  companions,  St. 
Thomas. 

The  attribution  of  this  picture  is  doubtful.  The 
freedom  and  naturalism  of  draperies  seem  to  hint 
of  the  hand  of  some  modern  painter,  and  the  va- 
riety and  movement  of  gesture  do  not  recall  Palma 
so  much  as  a later  Renaissance  artist.  The  faces 


IRoorn  — gala  bet  Bonttajt 


263 


have  not  great  depth  of  expression,  but  the  com- 
position is  skilful,  the  figures  full  of  life  and  power, 
and  the  handling,  in  spite  of  much  repainting, 
vigorous  and  free. 

A painter,  who  out  of  Italy  is  scarcely  known, 
is  represented  here  by  several  canvases,  one  of 
which,  at  least,  deserves  to  rank  with  many  of  the 
best  works  of  the  greatest  Venetians.  This  is  the 
St.  Lorenzo  Giustiniani  by  Pordenone,  a man  who 
in  his  time  was  a not  unworthy  rival  of  Titian  him- 
self. 

Giovanni  Antonio  da  Pordenone  was  born  in 
1483,  and  died  in  1538.  He  imitated  Giorgione  in 
the  early  part  of  his  career,  and  afterward  came 
under  the  influence  of  Correggio,  Titian,  Raphael, 
and  Michelangelo,  acquiring,  say  Crowe  and  Caval- 
caselle,  “ something  from  each  of  these  masters 
without  rising  altogether  to  their  level.”  His 
works  are  to  be  found  in  many  churches  and  pub- 
lic buildings  in  Pordenone,  in  Udine,  Conegliano, 
Treviso,  and  Cremona.  All  have  been  much 
spoiled,  some  are  actually  covered  with  white- 
wash. It  is  as  a fresco-painter  that  he  is  greatest. 
Kugler  says  of  him  that  “ power  of  drawing  and 
foreshortening,  energetic  action,  warmth  and 
breadth  of  colour,  grand  management  of  light, 
freedom  of  hand  and  dignity  of  conception  all  com- 
bine to  place  Pordenone  in  this  walk  of  art  (as  a 


264  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  Venice  Hcabemg 


painter  of  fresco)  on  a level  with  his  most  famous 
contemporaries.”  His  work  in  this  field  left  him 
apparently  little  time  for  oil-painting,  and  most 
of  what  he  did  accomplish  in  large  canvases  and 
altar-pieces  is  not  up  to  his  greatest  achievements 
in  fresco.  In  1528  he  went  to  Venice,  where  he 
became  one  of  the  most  noted  painters  of  his  day. 
It  has  been  claimed  that  Titian  was  so  unfriendly 
that  the  younger  painter  always  went  armed  to 
protect  himself  from  any  assaults  that  Titian 
might  direct.  Though  such  bitter  animosity  as 
this  would  indicate  is  extremely  unlikely,  it  seems 
nevertheless  to  be  true  with  Pordenone  as  with 
Tintoretto  that  the  great  man  of  Cadore  had  little 
appreciation  either  of  them  or  of  their  works.  In 
the  beginning  of  Pordenone’s  career,  however,  it 
is  a well-authenticated  fact  that  Titian  gave  him 
unstinted  praise  for  his  work,  — but  it  was  work 
which  was  not  executed  in  Venice. 

On  the  whole  Pordenone  seems  to  have  suffered 
from  the  hands  of  the  art  critics.  Even  when  they 
acknowledge  his  power  as  a draughtsman,  his 
brilliancy  and  charm  as  a colourist,  his  strength 
and  originality  as  a painter  of  portraits,  they  al- 
ways assert  emphatically  that  after  all  he  never 
equals  Titian.  And  this  is  usually  stated  in  such 
a way  that  the  really  extraordinary  talents  of  the 
man  are  allowed  only  half  a chance  for  apprecia- 


IRoom  — Sala  bet  JSontfa3t 


265 


tion.  Until  one  has  actually  seen  his  greatest 
works,  one  is  very  apt  to  think  of  Pordepione  as  a 
mere  second-rate  imitator  of  the  greatest  masters. 
But  it  is  well  to  remember  that  it  is  always  one 
as  great  as  Titian  with  whom  Pordenone  is  com- 
pared. That  mere  fact  is  tremendously  significant 
of  the  real  and  indisputable  heights  which  he 
reached. 

Of  the  four  works  by  him  in  the  Academy  the 
St.  Lorenzo  Giustiniani  with  St.  John  the  Baptist 
and  Other  Saints  is  universally  considered  his  mas- 
terpiece in  oil-painting. 

Standing  on  a pedestal  in  front  of  a semidomed 
arch  with  mosaic  ornamentation  is  St.  Lorenzo, 
the  first  Patriarch  of  Venice.  He  is  in  a white  sur- 
plice, his  blue  cap  fitting  closely  about  his  head  over 
his  ears.  In  his  left  hand  he  holds  a large,  richly 
bound  and  clasped  book,  while  his  right  is  lifted 
in  blessing.  On  each  side  of  the  pedestal,  with 
their  heads  bent  toward  the  Patriarch,  are  two 
figures,  bonneted  fin  blue  like  their  leader;  and 
slightly  more  forward  to  the  right  is  St.  Bernard 
of  Siena,  carrying  a thick  book.  Little  of  these 
three  can  be  seen  except  their  heads.  Standing  in 
front  of  one  of  the  columns  at  the  left  of  the  arch 
is  St.  Augustine,  in  rich  canonicals  with  mitre  and 
crozier.  He  is  in  profile,  his  face  lifted  question- 
ingly  to  Lorenzo,  while  he  points  outward  with 


266  Ube  Brt  ot  tbe  Venice  Hcabems 


his  right  forefinger.  In  front  of  him,  in  his  monk- 
ish robes,  kneels  St.  Francis,  his  hands  that  show 
the  stigmata  gesticulating  nervously  while  he  ap- 
parently converses  in  some  perturbation  with  St. 
John  the  Baptist,  who  is  opposite  him,  next  St. 
Bernard.  The  Baptist  is  nude  except  for  the  furry 
skin  that  comes  over  one  shoulder  and  partly 
covers  his  back  and  hips.  He  is  leaning  slightly 
forward,  his  left  foot  resting  on  a bit  of  carved 
marble,  his  left  hand  holding  a book,  on  which  is 
a little  white  lamb.  His  right  hand  is  slightly  lifted 
as  if  even  while  offering  the  lamb  to  St.  Francis  he 
is  about  to  interrupt  that  saint’s  eager,  nervous 
remarks. 

One  of  the  chief  criticisms  brought  against  this 
picture  is  the  lack  of  any  intellectual  connection 
between  the  various  members  making  the  group 
of  saints.  There  is  no  centre  of  interest,  the  critics 
have  said,  and  no  real  life  to  the  Santa  Conver- 
sazione, which  it  is  supposed  to  illustrate.  It 
seems  a rather  puerile  contention.  Many  of  the 
so-called  Holy  Conversations  of  the  Venetian 
painters  show  little  or  no  intellectual  or  emotional 
connection  between  the  figures  brought  more  or 
less  peremptorily  together.  If  they  make  well- 
connected  groups  from  a purely  technical,  compo- 
sitional point  of  view,  that  is  generally  all  that  can 
be  expected.  But  here  there  is  certainly  more  than 


ST.  LORENZO  GIUSTINIANI  WITH  ST.  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST 
AND  OTHER  SAINTS 
By  Pordenone 


IRoom  £•  — Sala  t>ei  Bontfasi  267 


skilled  massing,  or  clever  management  of  figures 
in  different  positions.  There  certainly  is  a decided 
centre  of  interest.  It  does  not  take  much  reading 
into  the  picture,  surely,  to  see  that  the  discussion 
which  is  going  on  between  St.  Francis  and  St. 
John  is  the  very  thing  which  makes  the  group 
homogeneous.  St.  Augustine,  in  his  turn,  is  call- 
ing the  Patriarch’s  attention  to  the  two  so  ear- 
nestly discussing,  while  all  the  others  are  either 
listening,  or  watching  St.  Lorenzo  for  orders.  As 
for  St.  Lorenzo  himself,  he  it  is  who  brings  the 
differing,  various  minds  together,  for  over  all  he 
has  lifted  his  hand  in  benediction.  It  is  as  if  he 
were  standing  for  both  Church  and  State,  guarding 
safely  each  and  all,  whatever  differences  of  opinion 
might  exist. 

But  whether  the  picture  may  or  may  not  contain 
any  ethical  or  spiritual  meaning  has  really  little  to 
do  with  it  as  a product  of  the  painter’s  art.  As 
a painting  pure  and  simple  must  it  stand  or  fall. 
And  as  a painting  there  are  not  many  works  in  the 
Academy  that  equal  it,  fewer  still  that  surpass  it. 
Seen  even  among  the  masterpieces  of  Venetian  art 
the  colour  scheme  of  this  Pordenone  is  positively 
enthralling  in  its  richness,  its  luminosity,  its  bril- 
I liance  of  contrasted  tones,  its  whole  glorious  radi- 

Iance.  St.  John  has  been  rightly  condemned  as  be- 
ing far  too  gigantic  for  the  rest  of  the  figures  of 


268  z be  Hrt  of  the  Uentce  Bcafcemy 


the  composition.  But  who  has  ever  better  depicted 
beautiful,  firm,  full  white  flesh?  Who  has  ever 
modelled  with  lighter,  subtler,  more  imperceptible 
touches,  such  rounded  planes?  And  if  the  con- 
struction of  that  well-knit,  muscular,  beautiful  if 
huge  figure  is  not  up  to  Florentine  standards,  at 
least  there  are  few  Venetians  that  could  better  it. 
Great  as  is  the  colour  appeal  of  the  picture,  still 
more  remarkable  is  it  for  its  fulness  of  life.  Every 
figure  in  it  has  the  variety,  the  strength,  the  indi- 
viduality, the  intensity,  of  actual  life.  Those  heads 
are  as  living,  as  real,  as  knowable  as  the  doctors 
in  Rembrandt’s  Lesson  in  Anatomy.  Life  itself, 
it  seems,  could  not  make  them  more  human,  more 
spiritedly  or  more  spiritually  real.  John,  as  is  quite 
proper,  is  by  far  the  most  beautiful  type.  So  beau- 
tiful, indeed,  are  the  smooth  brow,  the  deep,  ques- 
tioning eyes,  the  finely  curved  nose,  the  soft  yet 
firm  lips,  that  one  wonders  if  the  hand  that  created 
him  might  not  have  given  the  world  a Christ  face 
worthy  of  its  history. 

But  if  John  is  aesthetically  the  most  satisfying 
and  physically  the  most  dominating,  it  is  St.  Lo- 
renzo himself  who  is  intellectually  the  most  supreme. 
There  is  no  physical  beauty  in  the  drawn,  tense 
lines  of  that  narrow,  pinched  face,  in  the  piercing, 
searching  gleams  of  those  sad  eyes,  in  the  tired  but 
rigid  determination  of  those  thin,  pressed  lips. 


IRoom  Sala  Cet  JBont(a3f 


269 


But  there  is  mighty  force,  iron  will,  compelling 
power,  and  a spirit  weary  unto  death.  With  the 
forehead  of  a seer  and  the  chin  of  a man  of  action 
he  overcomes  as  all  such  do1  by  the  mere  weight 
of  his  personality.  And  the  more  you  look,  the 
more  you  are  certain  that  the  old  sacristan  of  the 
Madonna  dell’  Orto  is  right.  If  that  is  not  Dante, 
who'  else  could  it  be? 

Not  less  real,  if  portraying  less  extraordinary 
personalities,  are  the  others.  The  argumentative, 
insistent,  obhvious-to-everything-but-his-own-opin- 
ions  St.  Francis;  the  dreaming,  ascetic  St  Ber- 
nard; the  questioning,  plain-spoken,  direct  St.  Au- 
gustine, — all  are  expressed  with  a surety,  a 
divination,  that  marks  their  creator  one  of  the  great 
portrait-painters  of  the  world. 

The  Madonna  del  Carmelo,  also  by  Pordenone, 
in  this  room,  has  been  greatly  damaged,  and  per- 
haps partly  because  of  its  condition  has  not  re- 
ceived half  the  attention  it  deserves.  Another 
reason  for  its  neglect  doubtless  lies  in  its  subject. 
The  Madonna  sheltering  worshippers  under  her 
robes  was  a theme  often  used  by  the  primitives, 
and  the  very  nature  of  it  was  rather  contrary  to  the 
spirit  of  the  later  Renaissance  that  required  a more 
natural  grouping,  a placing  of  figures  in  surround- 
ings which  would  at  least  bear  some  relation  to 
every-day  existence.  Whatever  the  reason  for  the 


270  Ube  art  of  tbe  Dentce  Hcabemg 


neglect,  the  picture  is  deserving  of  far  better  treat- 
ment. 

It  was  purchased  by  Canova  in  Rome,  and 
adorned  his  chapel  at  Possagno.  The  Academy 
came  into  possession  of  it  by  exchange. 

The  composition  shows  the  Virgin  standing  on 
a pedestal  against  the  clouds,  her  arms  outstretched, 
her  wide  blue  mantle  held  up  by  angels.  Two 
saints,  “ Beato  ” Angelo  and  “ Beato  ” Simon 
Stock,  are  at  her  sides,  both  dressed  in  monk’s 
garb.  Members  of  the  family  of  the  Ottoboni  are 
below,  on  each  side,  at  the  left  five  men,  at  the 
right  a beautifully  dressed  woman  and  a little  boy. 
In  the  centre,  in  a gallery  that  is  lower  than  the 
foreground,  is  a monk,  only  half-visible,  looking 
up  in  ecstatic  prayer.  The  immediate  foreground 
is  occupied  by  the  heads  of  the  family,  a man  and 
a woman. 

There  is  none  of  the  exaggeration  of  gesture 
here,  of  which  Pordenone  is  sometimes  guilty,  nor 
is  there  any  disproportion  in  the  relative  size  of 
the  figures.  The  whole  composition  is  restrained, 
dignified,  and  remarkably  graceful.  Morelli  re- 
marks of  it  that  “ the  portraits  contained  in  this 
picture  of  some  of  the  Ottoboni  of  Pordenone,  the 
family  for  whom  Giovanni  Antonio  executed  this 
fine  work  in  1526,  are  worthy  in  my  estimation  to 
rank  with  the  best  portraits  of  all  times.” 


IRoom  £.  — Sala  fcei  ®onifa3t 


271 


Pordenone’s  Portrait  of  a Woman,  also  in  this 
room,  has,  like  the  Ottoboni  Madonna,  been  sadly 
repainted.  Some  of  the  noticeable  Palmesque 
traits  in  it  may  be  due  to  this  restoration  process. 
It  is  a portrait  of  a young,  fair-haired  woman, 
with  square-cut,  low,  decollete  waist  of  black,  and 
a blue  and  yellow  head-dress  of  most  elaborate 
design.  Her  shoulders  are  wide  and  full,  and  her 
short  neck  is  in  line  much  like  the  type  usual  with 
Palma.  She  has  large  eyes,  regular  features,  and  is 
rather  insipid  in  expression.  The  modelling,  firm- 
ness of  touch,  and  characterization  make  this  a 
striking  portrait  and  show  Pordenone’s  skill  when 
he  chose  to  depict  single  heads. 

The  Bonifazio  pictures  are  all  in  Room  10,  and 
it  is  hardly  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  nowhere 
else  in  the  Academy  does  the  visitor  feel  himself 
so  steeped  in  a perfect  splendour  of  colour.  If  in 
no  other  room,  he  realizes  at  least  here  the  glory 
of  Venetian  painting.  Before  he  has  had  time  to 
analyze  the  pictures  to  see  what  types,  what  sort 
of  subject,  composition,  or  treatment  these  canvases 
hold,  he  is  fairly  carried  off  his  feet  by  their  mere 
radiance.  There  is  an  alluring  softness  to  the  glow- 
ing tones,  a something  subtle  but  penetrating  that 
seems  to  enwrap  the  senses  like  a mysterious, 
haunting,  Oriental  perfume.  After  he  has  caught 
his  breath,  as  it  were,  he  begins,  perhaps,  to  feel 


272  tTbe  Brt  of  tbe  Uentce  Bcabems 


that  this  very  transcendence  of  colour  may  be  in 
the  nature  of  a magic  spell,  rendering  him  ob- 
livious to  the  weaknesses  and  faults  of  the  canvases. 
For,  it  is  generally  true,  as  critics  have  remorse- 
lessly pointed  out,  Bonifazio  was  neither  original 
in  conception  nor  yet  in  execution.  Nor  did  he 
ever  create  one  type  that  is  wholly  his.  And, 
though  the  ensemble  is  almost  always  charming 
and  the  details  sometimes  of  positively  extraor- 
dinary beauty,  it  is  in  the  main  simply  truth  that 
that  higher  something  which  does  not  even  have 
to  be  searched  for  in  the  works  of  Raphael,  Leo^ 
nardo,  Michelangelo,  Bellini,  Titian,  and  Tintoretto, 
is  not  to  be  found  with  him  at  all.  It  is  a truth, 
however,  that  in  looking  at  such  a picture  as  the 
Rich  Man’s  Feast,  for  instance,  one  neither  re- 
members, or,  remembering,  believes ! 

In  general,  Bonifazio’s  pictures  may  be  said  to 
be  an  amplification  of  the  Holy  Conversations  of 
Palma  Vecchio.  They  represent  groups  of  fash- 
ionably attired  Venetian  men  and  women,  seated 
under  the  trees  in  palace  parks  or  gardens,  on  ter- 
races or  balconies,  engaged  in  the  idle  pursuits  of 
the  day.  To  these  scenes  of  contemporary  life  he 
usually  tacks  on  some  Biblical  title,  again  follow- 
ing the  custom  of  the  day.  The  incongruity  of 
title,  subject,  and  treatment  bothered  him  no  more 
than  his  public.  Ease  of  composition,  graceful 


IRoom  £♦  — £ala  5et  Bontfast 


273 


balance  of  masses,  well-understood  construction 
of  the  human  body  and  of  tonal  relations,  natural, 
could-be-no-other-way  manner  of  grouping,  pleas- 
ing, at  times  even  dignified  and  elevated  types,  a 
solidity  and  firmness  of  handling,  — these  are  the 
attributes  almost  as  universal  in  the  best  works 
of  Bonifazio,  or  of  the  Bonifazi,  as  is  the  wonder- 
ful colour  which  plays  over  all. 

It  is  necessary  to  say  “ of  the  Bonifazi,”  for  it 
is  not  yet  certain  whether  there  may  not  have  been 
at  least  three  of  this  family.  For  years  Bonifazio 
was  considered  to  represent  but  one  painter,  and 
to  him,  consequently,  the  many  canvases  signed 
by  that  name  were  attributed.  Then  more  modern 
criticism  appeared  to  prove  that  there  were,  as  has 
been  said,  at  least  three  of  this  same  name.  Mo- 
relli  suggests  that  there  may  even  have  been  four, 
and  insists  that  they  differ  considerably  in  ability. 
The  elder  two  are  believed  to  have  been  born  in 
Verona,  and  hence  the  appellation  Bonifazio  Vero- 
nese. Of  these  two,  Morelli  says  that  one,  presum- 
ably the  elder,  was  “ an  artist  of  great  talent,  the 
other  a mere  imitator.”  The  third  Bonifazio,  it 
is  supposed,  may  have  been  a son  of  one  of  these, 
and  possibly  he  was  born  in  Venice,  thus  acquir- 
ing the  distinguishing  mark  of  Bonifazio1  Vene- 
ziano.  This  last  painter,  say  the  critics,  was 
working  as  late  as  1579,  while  works  of  the  earlier 


274  TTbe  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  BcabemE 


bear  dates  as  far  back  as  1530.  This  youngest 
ranks  far  below  both  the  older  ones  in  talent.  The 
confusion  resulting  from  lack  of  definite  knowl- 
edge about  the  three  has  mixed  their  works  inex- 
tricably. To  the  layman  it  might  seem  an  easy 
matter  to  assign  the  best  works  to  Bonifazio  I., 
the  next  in  merit  to  Bonifazio  II.,  and  those  of 
least  value  to  the  youngest,  Bonifazio  III.,  or  Boni- 
fazio Veneziano,  as  he  is  called.  This,  however, 
seems  beyond  the  powers  of  the  critics.  Scarcely 
two  of  them  agree  as  to  the  authorship  of  most 
of  the  pictures. 

The  latest  criticism  has  chosen  a simpler  way 
out  of  the  difficulty.  In  the  last  official  catalogue 
the  entire  point  of  view  is  changed.  According 
to  Professor  Pietro  Paoletti  di  Oswaldo,  there  was 
after  all  only  one  Bonifazio,  and  to  him  are  given 
all  the  pictures  under  that  name  in  the  Academy. 
This  is  apparently  following  Dr.  Gustave  Ludwig’s 
classification,  for  that  German  critic  has  recently 
brought  forward  evidence  which  to  him  seems  con- 
clusive proof  of  this  assertion.  According  to  Mol- 
menti,  who  quotes  Doctor  Ludwig’s  opinion,  there 
was  a very  mediocre  painter,  Bonifazio  Pasini  of 
Verona,  who  never  left  his  native  town.  That 
another,  the  Bonifazio  Pitati,  also  of  Verona,  but 
unrelated  to  the  first,  came  to  Venice,  and  among 
other  works  decorated  the  palace  of  the  Camer- 


IRoom  £•  — Saia  Del  Bontfasi 


275 


lenghi,  and  that  finally  Antonio  Palma,  who  was 
heir  and  nephew  to  Bonifazio  Pitati,  and  father  of 
Jacopo  Palma  Giovane,  was  the  very  mediocre 
painter  who  has  been  confounded  with  the  third 
Bonifazio. 

When  noted  critics  so  entirely  disagree,  there 
seems  no  safe  path  for  the  uninitiated  to  follow. 
It  is  certainly  easier  to  bunch  all  the  disputed 
works  together  and  label  them  under  the  one 
name.  But  as  there  is  still  some  doubt  whether  a 
later  exploration  of  archives  may  not  upset  Doctor 
Ludwig’s  conclusions,  it  seems  desirable  not  wholly 
to  ignore  the  position  taken  by  Moschini,  Ber- 
nasconi,  Morelli,  and  others,  that  there  may  have 
been  three  Bonifazi,  the  first  two  brothers,  or  at 
least  living  at  the  same  time,  the  last  much 
younger. 

Whichever  view  is  taken,  the  Parable  of  the 
Rich  Man  is  universally  considered  the  masterpiece 
of  tins  Veronese  Venetian.  It  represents  the  log- 
gia and  courtyard  of  a palace,  where  are  gathered 
about  a table  the  rich  man  and  two  women,  a 
group  of  musicians,  and  a negro  dwarf.  On  the 
right  of  the  marble  pillars  which  centralize  this 
group  is  the  kneeling  beggar  called  Lazarus.  At 
the  left  are  two  servants,  and  beyond,  in  the  loggia 
and  court,  other  servants  and  retainers  of  the  house. 
In  the  distance  is  a view  of  trees,  hills,  an  arbour, 


276  Uhc  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcabemp 


and  a burning  house,  this  last  supposed  to  hint  of 
the  final  destruction  of  the  rich  man  and  his  pos- 
sessions. 

It  is  often  said  that  if  the  composition  had  been 
cut  at  the  sides  marked  by  the  two  forward  pillars 
it  would  gain  in  coherency,  and  would  hang  to- 
gether much  more  firmly.  This  may  reasonably 
be  doubted.  The  unevenness  of  the  spaces  outside 
of  these  columns  brings  the  two  young  women, 
she  who  is  singing  to  her  guitar  and  she  who  is 
listening  so  sadly,  into  the  centre  of  the  picture; 
which,  it  may  be  conceded,  is,  from  a purely  tech- 
nical point  of  view,  exactly  what  should  be  done. 
For  it  is  not  so  much  the  overfed,  dissipated  host, 
nor  yet  the  insipid  woman  beside  him,  about  whom 
centres  the  real  interest  of  the  picture.  They,  in 
a way,  are  quite  as  unimportant  as  the  beggar 
outside,  whom  Bonifazio,  for  strictly  commercial 
reasons,  named  Lazarus. 

The  host  sits  at  the  table  between  the  two  women, 
who  have  usually  been  called  courtesans.  He  is 
looking  at  the  older,  sitting  at  the  left,  her  head  in 
profile,  showing  the  lines  of  her  full,  rich  throat 
and  shoulders.  One  hand  is  in  her  lap,  one  at  her 
bosom.  Her  colouring  is  positively  luscious  in  its 
rich,  melting  tones  of  creamy  white  and  rose, 
heightened  and  made  more  enticing  by  her  gor- 
geous velvet  robe  and  puffed  satin  sleeves,  with  the 


PARABLE  OF  THE  RICH  MAN 


IRoom  — Sala  bet  Bontfaat  277 

bit  of  lace  showing  at  her  breast.  Her  fascination 
lies  wholly  in  her  colouring,  however,  for  her  in- 
sufficient nose,  rather  phlegmatic  if  sensual  mouth 
and  chin  prevent  even  the  languishing  look  she  is 
bestowing  upon  Monsieur  Dives  from  being  over- 
captivating. Dfives  apparently  feels  this  equally, 
for  while  he  is  returning  her  glance,  he  has  ten- 
derly placed  his  hand  over  the  younger  woman’s 
lying  on  the  table  beside  him.  She  is  of  very  dif- 
ferent calibre  from  her  companion.  Sitting  in  full 
face,  she  has  turned  and  dropped  her  head  on  to 
her  left  hand,  the  elbow  of  which  rests  on  her  left 
knee.  Her  eyes  have  slightly  fallen,  and  she  is 
looking  at  the  singing  woman,  but  without  seeing 
her.  A melancholy  that  is  marvellously  appealing 
has  settled  over  her  beautiful  features,  and  if  she 
is  the  courtesan  that  she  is  called,  Morelli  is  prob- 
ably right  when  he  says  she  is  “ thinking  remorse- 
fully of  the  days  of  her  innocence.”  From  mere 
outward  appearance,  however,  there  is  nothing  to 
indicate  that  these  days  of  innocence  are  passed. 
The  delicate,  clear-cut  lines  of  chin,  mouth,  and 
brow  show  no  suggestion  of  sensuality.  Mourn- 
ful, or  indulging  in  some  mournful  thought,  she 
certainly  is.  But,  if  one  were  guessing  unguided 
by  guide  or  critic,  she  might  be  lamenting  a strictly 
legal  union  with  the  man  beside  her,  or  merely 
regretting  the  fate  that  compels  the  other  lovely 


278  XTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  IDentce  Hcabem^ 


young  girl  to  sing  for  her  living.  What  she  is, 
however,  or  even  what  Bonifazio'  intended  her  to 
represent  is,  after  all,  of  more  literary  than  pic- 
torial interest.  Without  a word  of  explanation 
she  exists  as  one  of  the  loveliest  creations  of  Boni- 
fazio’s brush,  — and  it  is  a brush  famous  for  its 
beautiful  women. 

Scarcely  less  attractive,  though  of  not  quite  so 
high  a type,  is  the  singing  girl.  Like  the  other 
two  women,  her  blond  hair  is  parted  simply  over 
her  forehead,  brought  down  behind  her  ears,  and 
then  bound  over  her  head  in  braids,  and  like  them, 
too,  she  wears  the  square,  low-cut  bodice,  showing 
the  exquisite  curves  of  her  neck  and  throat.  She 
is  in  front  of  the  table,  sitting  evidently  on  a low 
stool,  reading  her  music  from  the  book  held  up 
before  her  by  the  negro  boy.  Beside  her  kneels 
the  ’cellist,  and  back  of  them  is  a third  member  of 
their  party,  a dark-haired  and  bearded  man.  These 
three  are  rendered  with  a faithfulness  that  makes 
each  one  seem  like  an  exact  portrait,  one  of  the 
chief  characteristics,  indeed,  of  all  of  Bonifazio’s 
figures.  Beyond,  the  man  with  the  falcon,  the 
group  of  attendants,  the  court,  and  even  the  dog 
drinking  at  the  fountain,  are  not  less  real,  though 
purposely  subordinated  to>  those  in  the  foreground. 

In  this  scene,  as  in  most  of  Bonifazio’s,  the 
resonant,  deep  red  tone,  of  which  he  was  so1  fond, 


IRoom  £♦  — Sala  fcei  Bonitasi  279 

is  one  of  the  key-notes  of  the  harmony  of  colour. 
There  is  a richness,  a mellowness,  as  well  as  a 
marvellous  transparent  quality  to  this  colour  as  he 
uses  it  that  seems  to  dominate  the  whole  scene. 
It  is  as  if  some  of  its  warmth  could  be  felt  even 
in  the  palest  flesh-tones,  as  if  it  shed  its  lustre  into 
the  very  air  and  was  partly  responsible  for  the 
penetrating  luminosity  of  the  atmosphere. 

It  is  said,  by  the  way,  that  Dives  is  supposed  to 
represent  Henry  VIII.  of  England,  and  the  lady 
at  his  side,  Anne  Boleyn. 

The  Judgment  of  Solomon  has  been  considered 
the  joint  work  of  the  two  elder  Bonifazi.  It  is  a 
tall,  upright  panel,  showing  on  the  right  of  the 
composition,  upon  a marble  terrace  of  a palace, 
Solomon  enthroned,  gorgeously  attired  in  a blue 
robe,  with  golden  brocaded  mantle.  In  his  left 
hand  he  holds  his  sceptre,  while  his  right  is  ex- 
tended to  the  mothers,  who  kneel  before  him.  At 
the  foot  of  the  throne  is  the  child,  its  arms  seized 
by  an  executioner  who,  with  his  sword  drawn,  is 
about  to  carry  out  the  sentence  of  death.  Soldiers 
and  attendants  stand  about  in  rich  Oriental  cos- 
tume, with  others  in  the  background.  The  dis- 
tance is  a sombre,  mountainous  landscape. 

The  brilliant  clothes  of  the  two  mothers,  the 
richness  of  the  Orientals,  and  the  royal  garb  of 
Solomon  on  his  marble  throne  give  this  a jewel- 


28o  tlbe  Hrt  of  tbe  IDentce  Hcabem^ 


like  splendour  of  colour.  Solomon  himself  is  dis- 
played as  a youthful,  almost  girlish  figure,  with  a 
face  in  which  sweetness  of  expression  instead  of 
force  of  character  is  perceived.  The  two  mothers 
are  drawn  with  much  spirit  and  sympathy,  the 
agony  and  terror  of  the  faces  vividly  and  not  too 
melodramatically  indicated. 

There  are  several  Adorations  of  the  Magi  in 
this  room,  which  have  usually  been  given  to  Boni- 
fazio  II.  According  to  the  new  catalogue  one  of 
them  alone  is  now  credited  to  Bonifazio>,  the  others 
being  considered  only  partly  his.  In  all  there  is 
much  beautiful  colour,  and  in  all  the  mother  is 
a very  sweet  and  tender-faced  young  woman,  lack- 
ing somewhat  perhaps  in  marked  nobility  of  ex- 
pression. The  Christ-child  is  painted  with  a charm 
and  delicacy  of  colour  that  at  times  recall  the 
brush  of  Titian.  All  the  canvases  have  been  so 
tremendously  repainted  that  it  is  difficult  to  tell 
which  part  is  original  and  which  modern  restora- 
tion. 

The  Woman  Taken  in  Adultery  Morelli  claims 
to  be  the  work  of  the  two  elder  Bonifazi.  Others 
ascribe  it  to  Bonifazio  II.  The  types  of  head  are 
similar  to  those  in  the  Judgment  of  Solomon,  and 
there  is,  as  Morelli  observes,  much  the  same 
strength  and  brilliancy  of  colouring.  It  shows 
Christ  seated  at  the  left  in  a vestibule,  beyond 


ADORATION  OF  THE  MAGI 
By  Bonifazio 


IRooin  f.  — Sala  Dei  Bonifasi  281 


which  may  be  seen  a view  of  San  Marco’s  Piaz- 
zetta,  giving  a corner  of  the  Sansovino  Library 
and  the  Loggetta  of  the  Campanile.  About  him 
are  the  Pharisees,  and  before  him  stands  the  ac- 
cused, dressed  in  blue,  with  a white  veil,  her  hands 
bound  by  a cord,  the  ends  held  by  a soldier  kneel- 
ing on  his  shield.  Soldiers, ' women,  and  children 
are  about. 

Critics  differ  as  to  the  value  of  this  picture,  some 
praising  it  for  its  beautiful  colour,  some,  like  Sir 
Charles  Eastlake,  calling  it  “ a crowded  compo- 
sition, . . . possessing  little  or  no  technical  excel- 
lence.” 

The  Massacre  of  the  Innocents,  considered  apart 
from  its  subject,  can  call  for  only  the  greatest 
praise.  It  is  magnificent  in  its  tonal  qualities.  The 
harmony  and  richness  of  its  colours,  the  exquisite 
blending  and  contrasting  of  tints,  make  it  a veri- 
table colour  symphony.  If  the  subject  is  legiti- 
mate in  art  at  all,  then,  also,  it  must  be  acknowl- 
edged that  Bonifazio  has  treated  it  as  such  a sub- 
ject should  be  treated.  He  has  been  condemned 
for  the  heartlessness  displayed  by  the  officer  under 
whose  direction  the  slaughter  is  taking  place.  But 
certainly  to  have  dowered  him  with  any  feeling 
would  bring  a false  note  into  the  composition.  He 
could  not  have  been  sitting  there  overseeing  the 


282  ube  Brt  of  tbe  Dentce  Bcabemp 


bloody  job  had  he  been  capable  of  appreciating  the 
terrible  nature  of  his  task. 

The  slaughter  is  depicted  taking  place  in  the 
middle  distance,  and  it  is  as  full  of  horror  as  Boni- 
fazio  properly  could  make  it.  The  foreground  is 
mostly  taken  by  the  old  man,  who  is  evidently  in 
charge  of  the  officers  and  soldiers  deployed  for  the 
work. 

Jesus  and  Philip  and  Other  Apostles  has  been  at- 
tributed to  both  Lorenzo  Lotto  and  Palma  Vecchio, 
and  Mr.  Berenson  does  not  include  it  among  the 
works  of  Bonifazio.  The  Academy  catalogue  calls 
it  a joint  production  of  Bonifazio  and  Palma  Vec- 
chio. The  dark  background  and  the  heavy  depth 
of  the  shadows  are  unlike  Bonifazio,  but  the  types 
are  in  general  agreed  to  be  representative  of  him 
rather  than  of  Palma. 

It  is  a panel  about  seven  feet  long  by  five  wide, 
with  life-size  figures.  At  the  left  stands  Jesus,  in 
full  face,  dressed  in  a pale  rose-coloured  robe  and 
deep  blue  mantle.  One  hand  rests  lightly  on  his 
breast,  with  the  other  he  is  pointing  heavenward, 
as  if  calling  for  celestial  witness  to  his  words.  At 
the  right,  in  profile,  facing  him,  is  Philip,  in  green 
tunic  and  pale  yellow  pallium,  one  hand  held  out 
as  though  expostulating.  Behind  these  two,  whose 
full  robes  and  mantles  practically  fill  the  entire 
lower  part  of  the  composition,  can  be  seen  the 


By  Bonifazio 


I 


IRoom  f.  — Sala  bet  Bcntfasl  283 


heads  and  shoulders  of  various  other  disciples. 
Among  them  are  the  youthful,  girlish  John,  the 
aging,  rugged  Peter,  the  younger  James.  The 
modelling  of  the  figures  is  both  firm  and  solid, 
and  the  construction  and  drawing  show  a freedom 
and  surety  not  always  felt  in  Venetian  art.  The 
colouring,  except  for  some  rather  leaden  shadows, 
is  rich  and  effective,  and  all  the  faces  are  differ- 
entiated with  the  skill  usual  with  the  Bonifazi. 
Jesus  has  a serious,  earnest  expression  not  without 
real  spirituality  in  his  beautiful  dark  eyes.  Even 
more  successful  is  Philip,  his  rugged  frame  bent 
forward  in  a certain  rude  intensity  that  is  softened 
by  the  fine,  delicately  lined,  anxious  face. 

Christ  Enthroned,  Morelli  claims  to  have  prob- 
ably been  executed  by  Bonifazio  II.,  which  indi- 
cates that  he  did  not  find  it  quite  up  to  the  best 
work  of  the  Bonifazi,  but  that  he  thought  it  too 
good  to  give  to  the  youngest  of  the  trio. 

Jesus,  seated  on  a throne  placed  on  a terrace, 
is  shown  in  the  act  of  blessing.  One  foot  is  on  a 
globe  representing  the  terrestrial  sphere,  and  on 
his  knee  is  an  open  book.  A delightful  baby  angel 
sits  on  the  platform  at  his  feet  strumming  his 
guitar,  St.  Mark  kneels  on  the  tiled  floor  near  by, 
and  St.  Dominick  is  standing  just  behind  him,  on 
the  right  of  the  throne.  King  David,  St.  Louis 
of  France,  and  St.  Justina  are  at  the  left.  In  the 


284  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bcabem$ 


distance  behind  a parapet,  seen  through  three  semi- 
circular arches,  is  a view  of  distant  country  and 
mountains.  At  the  right  and  left,  about  stepping 
on  to  the  terrace,  are  groups  of  the  faithful,  mostly 
in  priestly  robes. 

The  Madonna  in  Glory  with  Five  Saints,  ac- 
cording again  to  Morelli,  is  by  Bonifazio  III.,  and 
shows,  he  says,  the  strong  influence  Titian  had 
over  the  younger  Bonifazio  in  his  later  years.  The 
colouring  and  modelling  of  the  figures,  as  well  as 
the  character  of  the  types,  all  recall  Titian. 

Above  the  more  important  of  the  Bonifazio  pic- 
tures are  many  panels,  each  holding  two  or  three 
saints.  According  to  Lafenestre,  Morelli,  and 
other  modern  critics,  these  are  all  by  Bonifazio  III., 
painted  in  his  youth,  and  showing  the  influence 
of  the  older  members  of  the  family  before  he  be- 
gan to  imitate  Titian  so  strenuously.  They  are 
pictures  painted  generally  for  some  Venetian  in 
official  life,  and  displaying  usually  his  coat  of 
arms  and  initials  on  a shield  at  the  base  of  the 
composition.  All  of  them  are  solidly  painted,  full 
of  rarely  beautiful  colour,  often  of  excellent  char- 
acterization, and  occasionally  evincing  an  unex- 
pected height  of  expression. 

Far  more  noted  even  than  the  Feast  at  the  Rich 
Man’s  House  is  the  great  canvas  known  as  the 
Fisherman  Returning  the  Ring  of  St.  Mark  to 


TRooin  f.  — Sala  £>et  JSonifa3t  285 


the  Doge,  by  Paris  Bordone,  which  hangs  in  this 
same  room. 

Paris  Bordone,  who,  because  of  the  fame  of  this 
picture,  is  unfairly  titled  the  painter  of  one  picture, 
was  born  at  Treviso  in  1495,  and  died  in  I57°- 
His  education  was  strictly  Venetian,  but  he  was  no 
mere  imitator  of  that  school.  He  shows  the  in- 
fluence of  both  Giorgione  and  Titian,  and  it  is 
believed  that  he  entered  the  latter’s  studio  when  he 
was  about  fourteen.  Many  of  his  works  have  dis- 
appeared or  been  wrongly  ascribed  to  Titian  and 
others,  but  there  are  still  a number  in  different 
European  cities  which  plainly  indicate  his  ability, 
though,  of  course,  there  is  none  of  them  which 
begins  to  approach  this  famous  one  of  the  Acad- 
emy. Morelli  calls  him  a “ noble,  attractive  and 
refined  artist,  and  a splendid  colourist,  though  of 
unequal  merit  and  at  times  superficial.”  “ He  is 
remarkable,”  notes  another,  “ for  a delicate  rosy 
colour  in  his  flesh,  and  for  the  purple,  crimson  and 
shot-tints  of  his  draperies,  which  are  usually  in 
small  and  crumpled  folds.”  Of  the  picture  here, 
Burckhardt  says,  “ It  is  the  most  beautifully 
painted  ceremonial  picture  that  exists  anywhere,” 
and  Molmenti  exclaims  that  the  scene  is  as  if 
bathed  in  an  atmosphere  “ couteur  de  rose .”  It  is 
the  only  picture  in  the  Academy  which  is  at  all 
worthy  of  him,  for  the  Paradise,  a disagreeably  col- 


286  Ube  Brt  ot  tbe  Dentce  Bcabems 


oured,  conventionally  designed  panel  with  the 
Apostles,  Saints,  and  Martyrs  below  and  the  Holy 
Tribunal  above  is  so  poor  that  it  seems  incredible 
that  it  can  be  by  the  same  man. 

The  Fisherman  Returning  the  Ring  to  the  Doge 
illustrates  the  story  of  a fisherman  who,  one  ter- 
rible night  of  storm  in  February,  1340,  lay  in  his 
gondola  fast  to  the  landing  near  San  Marco.  Here 
he  was  accosted  by  a venerable  man  from  the 
church,  and  offered  a large  sum  to  be  taken  over  to 
San  Giorgio  Maggiore.  Once  there,  a young  man 
joined  them,  and  then  they  desired  the  fisherman 
to  row  across  to  San  Niccolo  di  Lido.  In  spite  of 
the  fearful  waves  that,  the  nearer  they  got  to  the 
open  sea,  grew  worse  and  worse,  the  fisherman 
succeeded  in  reaching  the  Lido  church.  Hardly 
had  they  arrived  than  a third  man,  old  and  bent, 
met  the  other  two,  and  also  entered  the  boat.  In- 
stead of  turning  homewards,  they  commanded  the 
boatman  to  take  them  out  between  the  forts  at 
the  mouth  of  the  harbour.  With  the  waves  dash- 
ing mountain  high  they  at  length  reached  the 
Adriatic,  where  they  saw  approaching  a boat 
manned  with  devils  on  their  way  to  destroy  Ven- 
ice. The  three  passengers  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  whereupon  the  storm  cleared  and  the  devils 
vanished.  Then  they  went  back,  and  each  man 
landed  where  he  had  embarked.  As  the  last  one 


Hoorn  £.—  Sala  &ef  3Bonifa3t 


287 


got  out  at  San  Marco,  he  told  the  boatman  that 
he  was  the  Evangelist  Mark,  and  patron  saint  of 
Venice,  that  the  other  two  were  St.  George  and 
St.  Nicholas.  Giving  the  fisherman  a ring  from 
his  finger,  he  told  him  to  show  that  to  the  doge 
and  he  would  receive  the  reward  which  they  had 
promised  him.  So,  next  morning  the  old  fellow 
took  the  ring  to  the  doge  and  told  his  story.  As 
the  very  ring  he  gave  them  was  kept  locked  up 
in  the  sacristy  of  San  Marco,  and  as  no  bolts  or 
bars  had  been  tampered  with,  they  knew  that  no 
one  less  mighty  than  the  saint  himself  could  have 
taken  it.  Whereby  they  perceived  that  a great 
miracle  had  been  enacted.  The  fisherman  was  given 
a pension  for  life,  and  the  populace  took  part  in  a 
solemn  mass  to  express  their  gratitude  for  the  city’s 
deliverance. 

Bordone  chose  for  the  subject  of  his  picture  the 
moment  of  the  fisherman’s  appearance  before  the 
doge.  On  the  right,  enthroned  under  a marble- 
pillared  loggia  of  most  exquisite  Renaissance  de- 
sign, sits  the  doge  surrounded  by  the  members  of 
the  council.  Rarest  Eastern  rugs  are  spread  over 
the  steps  at  their  feet;  the  carving  of  the  cornices 
and  capitals  and  the  recesses  behind  their  heads 
and  on  the  sides  of  the  raised  platform  is  fairly 
dreamlike  in  its  delicate  intricacy.  Led  by  a cham- 
berlain the  fisherman  is  mounting  the  tiled  steps 


288  ube  Brt  of  tbe  tDentce  Bcabem^ 


before  the  doge,  the  ring  held  out  in  his  trembling 
hand.  Another  chamberlain  stands  below  recom- 
mending him  to  the  attention  of  the  council,  and 
back  of  him  is  a crowd  of  Venetian  nobles.  In 
front,  one  foot  holding  the  gondola  drawn  up  to 
the  steps,  half-sits  and  half-lies  the  fisherman’s  boy, 
studying  with  wide-eyed  curiosity  the  splendour 
spread  out  before  him.  Beyond,  through  the  arches 
of  the  loggia,  marble  buildings  of  fairylike  light- 
ness and  grace  of  structure  lead  out  into  the  streets 
of  an  idealized  but  characteristic  Venice.  The  mere 
magnificence  of  this  scene  is  almost  indescribable. 
Nothing  less  glowing  than  the  painting  itself  can 
give  any  adequate  idea  of  its  mere  colour  scheme. 
It  conveys  little  impression  to  dwell  upon  the 
mellow,  soft-toned  marbles,  carvings,  and  orna- 
mentation, alone  quite  enough  to  prove  the  fancy 
and  originality  of  any  architect,  the  velvety  sheen 
of  those  rugs,  fit  for  an  Oriental  despot,  and  the 
gorgeous  brocades  of  the  princes  and  senators.  As 
no  adjectives  can  convey  the  sense  of  splendour  of 
these  glowing  masses  of  colour,  so  nothing  less  than 
the  picture  itself  can  give  an  idea  of  the  brilliance 
of  the  Venetian  sky  behind  and  over  the  dazzling 
marble  palaces,  nor  of  the  wonderful  atmosphere 
that  envelops  the  whole  scene,  softening  edges, 
making  distant  darkness  translucent,  throwing  a 
glamour  as  real  as  it  is  poetic.  Equally  masterly 


FISHERMAN  RETURNING  THE  RING  TO  THE  DOGE 

By  Paris  Bordone 


IRoorn  — Sala  bet  Bontfa3i  289 


is  the  chiaroscuro.  The  focusing  of  the  light  upon 
the  doge  and  the  kneeling  fisherman  against  their 
dark  backgrounds  is  hardly  less  skilful  than  the 
way  in  which  the  deepest  shadows  mass  over  the 
pillars  and  under  the  vaulting,  leading  out  of  the 
piazza,  beyond  which  the  sun  plays  full  over  the 
courts  and  walls.  Adding  to,  completing  the  effect 
of  all  this  wonderful  colour,  atmosphere,  and  chia- 
roscuro are  the  admirable  balance  and  massing,  the 
feeling  of  movement  and  life  in  the  composition, 
and  the  knowledge  and  power  displayed  in  each 
of  the  many  figures  introduced  into  the  scene.  If 
in  a certain  sense  all  this  can  be  called  technical 
achievement,  something  else  than  merely  trained 
ability  is  responsible  for  the  individualistic  treat- 
ment of  those  dignitaries,  every  one  as  intimate 
an  expression  of  character  as  if  he  made  one  of  a 
portrait  group.  Something  besides  the  education 
of  the  schools  made  it  possible  for  Bordone  to  show 
the  hesitancy,  the  faltering,  joined  to  the  sturdy 
purpose  in  that  half-clad  fisherman,  so  sure  of  his 
rights,  and  yet  so  abashed  by  all  the  regal  pomp 
before  him  that  he  needs  the  encouraging  assistance 
of  the  kindly  chamberlains.  And  what  brush  that 
was  not  held  by  a poet’s  hand  could  ever  have  por- 
trayed that  beautiful  boy  of  the  people  on  the 
steps  below?  No,  — it  is  truly  called  the  most 
beautiful  ceremonial  picture  in  existence,  but  it  is 


290  Zhc  Brt  ot  tbe  IDentce  Hcafcems 


much  more  than  that  phrase  usually  is  understood 
to  mean.  It  is,  in  spite  of  the  miraculous  story 
it  is  supposed  to  illustrate,  just  a living  page  from 
the  life  of  the  Venice  of  Bordone’s  day,  and  as  such 
shows  the  pathos  and  the  glory,  the  magnificence 
and  the  poverty,  the  reality  and  the  seeming,  as 
only  a seer,  a painter  with  a poet’s  eye,  could  ex- 
press it. 

Two  panels  in  Room  io,  by  Moretto  da  Brescia, 
do  not  give  much  idea  of  that  painter’s  real  ability. 
One  of  St.  Peter  shows  the  saint  about  two-thirds 
the  size  of  life,  standing  in  full  face,  his  head 
turned  three-quarters  to  the  right.  His  robe  is 
blue,  mantle  dark  crimson  lined  with  a greenish 
colour.  In  his  left  hand  he  holds  a book,  in  his 
right  the  keys  of  his  office.  Back  of  him  is  a 
wooded  landscape.  His  head  has  much  dignity  and 
nobleness,  and  the  drapery,  though  heavy,  is  well- 
handled  in  its  full,  deep  folds. 

St.  John  the  Baptist  is  about  the  same  size,  his 
figure  turned  three-quarters  to  the  left,  his  face 
in  full  view.  His  robe  is  dark,  with  a crimson 
mantle  thrown  over  his  right  shoulder.  In  his 
right  hand  he  carries  a cross  and  a scroll,  with 
the  left  he  points  upward.  This  is  hardly  as  sat- 
isfactory as  the  other.  The  colour  is  cold,  and 
though  the  saint’s  figure  is  carefully  studied,  the 


IRoom  f.  — Sala  &et  asonifajt 


291 


flesh-tones  are  not  true  in  key,  and  the  face  is  not 
impressive. 

Alessandro  Bonvincino  is  far  better  known  under 
the  name  of  Moretto  da  Brescia.  He  was  born 
probably  near  1498  at  Rovato,  not  far  from  Bres- 
cia, and  is  said  by  some  authorities  to  have  died 
in  1555.  He  is  usually  supposed  to  have  based 
his  style  largely  upon  the  works  of  Palma  and 
Titian,  but  Morelli  says  that  he  never  lost  the  Bres- 
cian  character.  His  colour  is  generally  silvery, 
and  though  the  drawing  and  dignity  of  his  fig’ures 
recall  Titian,  his  palette  is  very  unlike  that  of  the 
man  of  Cadore.  His  later  works  are  greatly  supe- 
rior to  his  earlier.  Kugler  says  of  him  that  “ his 
compositions  are  occasionally  of  the  highest  order,” 
and  that  in  the  Feast  of  the  Pharisee  in  S.  Maria 
della  Pieta  in  Venice  “ he  here  unites  the  harmony, 
force  and  brilliance  of  Venice  and  Brescia,  and 
anticipates  the  pomp  of  dress  and  gorgeousness  of 
Paul  Veronese.”  Other  splendid  works  by  him  are 
in  the  National  Gallery  and  in  the  Belvedere,  but 
the  best  examples  of  his  art  are  still  to  be  found 
in  and  near  Brescia.  He  was  especially  noted  as  a 
portrait-painter,  and  is  represented  in  most  of  the 
public  galleries.  In  his  early  career  he  worked  with 
Romanino  on  the  frescoes  in  S.  Giovanni  Evan- 
gelista, and  again  later  in  Verona.  Vasari  gives 
him  great  praise,  especially  for  his  skill  in  paint- 


292  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  tDenice  Hcabemp 


in g silks,  satins,  brocades,  and  wools.  At  times 
he  has  a Raphaelesque  feeling  for  grace  of  line  and 
composition,  noted  by  critics,  especially  in  the 
Slaughter  of  the  Innocents  in  S.  Giovanni.  His 
art  was  at  its  highest  expression  in  1530,  shown 
most  notably,  perhaps,  in  his  Majesty  of  St.  Mar- 
garet in  San  Francesco  of  Brescia. 

The  Saviour  between  St.  Peter  and  St.  John, 
by  Marconi,  has  a solemnity  of  expression  that,  as 
M.  Charles  Blanc  says,  is  a trifle  monotonous. 
The  chief  beauty  of  the  picture  lies,  as  usual  with 
Marconi,  in  its  fine  colour  effect,  an  effect  achieved 
not  only  by  the  rich-toned  robes,  but  by  the  land- 
scape background  where  trees  mass  against  the 
evening  sky  across  which  soft  clouds  are  floating. 

Jesus  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  picture,  his 
right  hand  lifted  in  benediction.  On  the  right  is 
John  the  Baptist,  bearing  a cross  over  his  shoulder, 
with  a lamb  at  his  feet.  Peter  is  at  the  left,  hold- 
ing the  keys  and  a book.  The  figures  are  almost 
life-size.  Peter’s  face  is  dignified,  and  is  the  best 
piece  of  character  work  in  the  composition. 

Three  pictures  here  by  Schiavone,  Jesus  En- 
chained, Jesus  before  Pilate,  and  the  Circumcision, 
are  conventionally  treated  compositions,  of  little 
value  except  as  fair  examples  of  Schiavone’s  abil- 
ities as  a colourist.  His  real  name  was  Andrea 
Meldola,  Schiavone  being  given  him  in  honour  of 


IRcom  £*  — Sala  Del  Bontfajt 


293 


his  birthplace,  Sebenico,  where  he  was  born  of  very 
humble  parents  in  1552.  Living  as  he  did  when 
Titian,  Tintoretto,  and  Veronese  were  at  their 
height,  he  had  great  difficulty  in  getting  enough 
to  do,  and  all  his  life  he  was  wretchedly  poor,  dy- 
ing in  1582  without  leaving  enough  to  bury  him. 
That  he  was  appreciated  by  his  artist  contem- 
poraries is  proved  by  the  remark  ascribed  to  Tin- 
toretto that  every  painter  ought  to  keep  in  his 
studio  a picture  by  Schiavone  to  study  its  beautiful 
colour.  As  a draughtsman  Schiavone  was  sadly 
deficient.  His  construction  of  figures  and  his  pro- 
portions are  almost  always  incorrect.  In  his  en- 
gravings these  faults  are  extremely  noticeable.  In 
his  paintings  he  has  such  depth  and  richness  of 
colour,  such  life  and  transparence  in  the  tones,  his 
lights  are  so  glowing,  his  shadows  so  luminous,  and 
his  treatment  of  chiaroscuro  so  full  of  verve  and 
the  charm  of  unexpectedness,  that  his  faults  as 
draughtsman  are  forgotteq. 

A very  charming  little  canvas  called  Venus,  in 
this  room,  really  a copy  of  Titian’s  Danae,  is  by 
Giovanni  Contarini.  It  has  exquisite  colour  gra- 
dations, and  is  so  free  and  supple  in  handling  that 
one  hardly  realizes  that  it  is  only  a copy. 

Contarini  was  born  in  1549  in  Venice,  and, 
among  the  mediocrities  of  the  last  part  of  the 
sixteenth  and  first  part  of  the  seventeenth  century, 


294  Ubc  Brt  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabemp 


stands  out  as  a man  of  real  if  uneven  talent.  His 
colour  was  vigorous,  his  brush  facile,  and  he  had 
a happy  faculty  of  imitating  the  style  and  manner 
of  greater  men.  As  a draughtsman  he  was  dis- 
tinctly poor. 

Domenico  Tintoretto,  the  son  of  the  great  Tin- 
toretto, has  eight  or  nine  pictures  in  the  Academy, 
five  of  them  portraits.  Four  of  his  canvases  are 
in  Room  9,  one,  the  Portrait  of  Pietro  Marcello,  in 
Room  10,  Christ  Scourged  in  Room  11,  and  the 
Madonna  and  Child  between  Two  Camerlenghi 
in  the  first  corridor.  Extended  comment  of  them 
is  here  hardly  possible.  The  portraits  are  by  far 
the  best  of  his  work.  Domenico  was  the  most 
famous  pupil  of  his  father,  and  at  first  he  followed 
closely  in  his  style,  producing  works  of  some  ex- 
cellence, but  showing  little  originality,  and  with 
neither  colour  nor  drawing  nearly  equal  to  his 
father’s.  Later  on  in  life  he  grew  more  exag- 

gerated, trying  to  achieve  effects  by  superficial, 
forced  means;  and  his  art  finally  degenerated  into 
the  overabundant  forms,  the  ill-regulated,  crowded 
composition,  the  careless,  intense  colour  character- 
istic of  the  last  days  of  the  Renaissance. 

Titian’s  Pieta  is  the  last  work  of  the  hand  that 
had  but  a year  to  complete  its  century.  Unfor- 
tunately, there  is  comparatively  little  left  in  the  pic- 
ture that  is  wholly  the  work  of  the  indefatigable 


IRoom  £♦  — Saia  bei  Bontfast 


29S 


centenarian.  After  his  death  the  canvas  was  found 
in  his  studio,  and  Palma  the  younger  was  chosen 
to  complete  it.  It  is  not  to  Palma’s  reverent  brush 
that  its  present  despoilment  is  due.  Since  his  day 
more  than  one  cleaner  and  restorer  have  had  their 
say,  till  now  it  is  impossible  to  tell  with  certainty 
which  part  is  Titian’s,  which  Palma’s,  and  which 
the  blatant  renovator’s.  It  is  generally  conceded 
that  the  central  group  of  Mother  and  Son  is  the 
least  injured  of  all,  and  more  nearly  expresses  both 
Titian’s  conception  and  his  execution. 

Before  a stone,  semidomed  recess  sits  Mary,  hold- 
ing across  her  knees  the  dead  Christ,  unclothed 
except  for  a drapery  about  the  loins.  Joseph  of 
Arimathea  kneels  in  profile  at  the  right,  lifting  with 
loving  touch  the  limp,  dropped  arm  of  the  Master. 
At  the  left  Mary  Magdalen,  in  a frenzy  of  grief, 
hair  unbound  and  flying,  arms  and  draperies  out- 
spread, seems  to  be  rushing  away  from  the  quiet 
group  about  Death.  A tiny  angel  is  leaning  over 
the  vase  of  ointment  at  her  feet,  and  in  the  air 
over  the  head  of  Jesus  another  is  bearing  a lighted 
torch.  On  lion-faced  pedestals  at  the  sides  of  the 
stone  recess  stand  statues  of  Moses  and  the  Grecian 
Sibyl,  and  on  the  floor  leaning  against  Titian’s 
coat  of  arms  is  a little  painting  representing  Titian 
and  his  son  kneeling  before  a Madonna  of  Pity. 

The  darkening  and  thickening  of  the  colours 


296  Zhc  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Hcafcemp 


have  made  the  Pieta  almost  monochromatic  in  its 
warm  brown  tones,  and  in  the  mere  handling  of  it 
there  is  little  to  recall  the  man  of  Cadore.  The 
tumultuously  agitated  Magdalen,  the  introduction 
and  treatment  of  the  two  marble  statues,  are  also 
not  at  all  Titianesque.  But  in  the  Mother  and  Son 
can  be  felt  the  mighty  hand  of  the  great  Venetian. 
There  is  a monumental  grandeur  of  grief  and  re- 
strained passion  that,  as  one  critic  has  not  failed 
to  remark,  recalls  the  Pieta  of  Michelangelo. 

It  was  executed  when  the  unfaltering  hand  of 
its  creator  was  nearing  its  own  final  rest,  when  the 
indomitable  spirit  must  have  felt  its  own  approach- 
ing dissolution.  In  a sense  it  was  his  own  requiem. 
Titian  intended  the  picture  for  the  Chapel  of  the 
Crucifixion  in  the  Church  of  the  Frari  where  was 
to  be  his  tomb.  It  came  to  the  Academy  from  the 
suppressed  Church  of  S.  Angelo. 


REPOSE  IN  EGYPT 
By  Jacopo  Bassano 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


ROOM  XI. SALA  DEI  BASSANO.  ROOM  XII,  — 

SALA  DEI  SECOLX  XVII.  AND  XVIII. 

Most  of  the  pictures  in  Sala  dei  Bassano,  as  the 
title  of  the  room  indicates,  are  by  the  three  Bassani. 
As  their  characteristics  and  abilities  have  already 
been  considered,  it  is  not  necessary  to  treat  of  these 
pictures  in  detail.  They  really  speak  for  them- 
selves. Whether  of  such  Scriptural  subjects  as  the 
Incredulity  of  Thomas,  the  Entrance  of  the  Ani- 
mals into  the  Ark,  the  Adoration  of  the  Shepherds, 
or  Landscapes  with  a Flight  into  Egypt  in  the  dis- 
tance, or  homely  pastoral  scenes,  or  mere  portraits, 
in  all  are  shown  the  clear,  gemlike  colour,  the  real- 
ity of  faithfully  depicted  nature,  the  actual  joy  of 
the  painters  who  use  their  brush  as  their  one  de- 
light in  life,  their  dearest  plaything  as  well  as  their 
most  necessary  tool. 

In  Room  12  most  of  the  works  are  of  very  minor 
interest  and  of  even  less  real  artistic  value.  They 
are  principally  by  men  of  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries,  and  are  either,  as  a rule,  weak 

297 


298  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Wentce  Hcabem^ 


imitations  of  the  masters  of  the  sixteenth  century 
or  are  puerile  attempts  to  exploit  some  individual 
eccentricity  of  style  or  subject. 

One  of  these  men,  Gregorio  Lazzarini,  had 
slightly  more  talent  than  the  majority  of  the  men 
of  his  time.  Born  in  Venice  in  1654,  he  has  been 
called  the  Raphael  of  the  Venetian  school,  an  epi- 
thet more  remarkable  for  its  hyperbole  than  for  its 
discrimination.  He  partakes  in  the  coldness  and 
lack  of  resonance  in  his  colour  rather  of  the  Roman 
school  than  of  the  Venetian.  His  design  and  com- 
position, contrary  to  usual  Venetian  rule,  are  su- 
perior to  his  colour.  He  is  best  remembered,  per- 
haps, as  a teacher  of  Tiepolo.  His  most  satisfac- 
tory work  here  is  probably  the  scene  representing 
the  Israelites  being  fed  with  manna. 

Three  pictures  here  by  Sebastiano  Ricci,  the  Rape 
of  Europa,  Diana  at  Her  Bath,  and  Healing  of  the 
Man  with  Palsy,  are  fairly  representative  of  the 
man  who  was  a favourite  at  the  courts  of  Austria, 
France,  and  England,  and  whose  best  works  are 
still  at  Hampton  Court,  England.  He  was  born  at 
Belluno  in  1660,  and  he  modelled  his  style  on  many 
of  the  famous  Venetian  painters,  imitating  them, 
indeed,  with  such  fidelity  that  many  of  his  pictures 
passed  for  those  of  far  more  celebrated  men.  It 
is  said  that  while  he  was  in  France  he  did  not  dis- 
dain selling  some  of  his  own  panels  as  being  the 


IRoom  £1L  — Sala  bet  Bassano  299 


work  of  Veronese.  On  one  occasion  it  is  reported 
that  he  succeeded  in  deceiving  La  Fosse,  the  French 
painter,  who  revenged  himself  by  advising  him  to 
paint  “ no  more  Riccis ! ” He  had  a pleasing  col- 
our, a facile  brush,  and,  though  his  design  was 
often  lacking  in  symmetry  and  proportion,  the 
gracefulness  of  the  lines  and,  the  softness  of  colour 
made  the  crude  construction  less  felt.  Most  of  his 
colour  has  suffered  badly  from  a blackening  brought 
on  by  time.  But  where  some  bit  has  escaped  this, 
it  is  seen  to  be  fresh,  clear,  and  transparent,  with 
a silvery  softness  that  counterbalances  its  coldness. 

One  picture  here  amid  the  crowd  of  mediocrities 
stands  out  unmistakably  as  the  work  of  a man 
of  undoubted  genius.  The  Holy  Family  Appear- 
ing to  St.  Gaetano  is  not  one  of  the  greatest  works 
of  Tiepolo;  indeed,  it  has  been  ascribed  to  his 
son,  Domenico,  because  it  does  not  seem  worthy  of 
the  father.  But  it  is  so  far  ahead  of  most  of  the 
canvases  here  that  it  appears  far  more  remarkable 
than  it  really  is. 

It  is  likely  that  Domenico  at  least  helped  in 
finishing  this  canvas,  for  fie,  as  well  as  other  as- 
sistants, was  constantly  at  work  with  Tiepolo  in 
his  studio.  It  has  much  beauty  of  colour  and  light, 
joined  to  extremely  realistic  portraiture.  The 
Mother  and  Joseph  are  extraordinarily  actual  and 
at  the  same  time  intensely  modern  in  both  type  and 


3°°  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  IDentce  BcaDem# 


treatment.  There  is  nothing  here  except  in  the 
subject  that  reminds  one  of  the  spirit  of  the  van- 
ished Renaissance. 

Leaning  on  the  balustrade  at  the  corner  of  a 
balcony  is  the  saint  in  his  black  robe,  hands  on 
his  breast,  head  lifted  in  profile,  gazing  at  the  vision 
which  rests  on  the  cloud  that  comes  down  and 
partly  envelops  him.  St.  Joseph  is  nearest  Gaetano. 
He  sits  on  the  cloud  as  though  it  were  a grassy 
bank,  his  bare  arms  and  feet  protruding  from  his 
brown  robe,  his  worn,  gray-bearded  face  bent  over 
the  Child  whom  he  holds  upright  on  his  knees.  At 
the  right,  slightly  higher,  is  the  Madonna,  looking 
down  at  Gaetano  with  a cheerful  tenderness  of 
aspect,  drawing  his  attention  to  the  Child  with  a 
gesture  of  both  hands.  Behind  her  head  two  an- 
gels hold  a white  drapery,  and  over  St.  Joseph 
a gray-robed  angel  clasps  a cloud-ringed  cornice 
of  the  palace  walls  and  holds  in  one  hand  a flower- 
ing staff.  By  the  babe  are  two  cherubic  heads. 
This  lovely  baby  form  with  its  laughing  eyes  and 
face;  the  grandeur  of  the  angel  overhead,  the 
troubled,  awkward  care  of  Joseph,  are  all  rendered 
with  that  pithiness  of  which  Tiepolo  was  past  mas- 
ter. Not  less  capital  is  the  thin,  dreaming  face  of 
the  devout  monk  below.  As  if  to  prove  to  his 
every-day  senses  the  reality  of  the  vision,  a spray 
of  lilies  lies  on  the  stone  step  at  his  feet. 


IRoom  £1L  — Sala  Dei  Bassano  301 


Giovanni  Battista  Tiepolo  was  born  in  Venice  in 
1696  and  died  in  Madrid  in  1770.  As  Titian  in- 
fluenced Velasquez,  so  Tiepolo  is  said  to  have 
influenced  Goya,  the  last  Spanish  painter  of  im- 
portance. To  Goya  in  his  turn  the  modern  French 
school  owes  much,  so>  that  it  can  be  said  without 
exaggeration  that  Tiepolo  hqs  greatly  affected  all 
painting  of  to-day.  He  for  his  part  has  been  called 
the  lineal  descendant  of  the  great  Veronese,  but 
with  many  and  varying  qualifications.  His  mar- 
vellous fecundity  of  ideas,  his  rapidity  and  ease  of 
execution,  his  astonishing  technical  acquirements, 

— in  an  age  when  technique  meant  merely  clever 
brush-work  or  a boudoir  prettiness  of  handling,  — 
his  daring  breadth  of  vision,  his  supreme  uncon- 
sciousness of  all  recognized  canons  of  art,  his  non- 
chalant egotism  that  allowed  him  every  latitude 
of  conception  or  execution,  his  wonderful  power  of 
composition  that,  upsetting  often  enough  every 
hard  and  fast  rule,  was  its  own  excuse  for  its 
iconoclasm,  his  theatricalness,  his  blatant  posturing, 
and  under  and  through  all  the  vigour,  the  mas- 
culinity, and  the  originality  as  well  as  the  incon- 
sequence, the  ugliness,  and  the  dashing  impudence, 

— these  are  the  attributes  of  this  eighteenth-cen- 
tury painter,  which  have  been  extolled  or  con- 
demned according  to  the  nature  or  point  of  view 
of  the  critic.  But  whether  hailed  as  the  last  of  the 


302  Ube  Brt  ot  tbe  Venice  Bcabemp 


great  painters  of  the  Renaissance,  or  heralded  as 
the  first  of  the  great  moderns,  or  scourged  as  one 
of  the  most  flagrant  of  the  long  line  of  offenders 
against  the  canons  of  pure  and  lofty  art,  Tiepolo 
at  least  deserves  recognition  and  homage  for  his 
own  inherent  power  at  a time  when  art  had  sunk 
to  the  level  of  a Lazzarini. 

There  was  nothing  in  contemporary  Italian  art 
to  teach  or  uplift  such  a nature  as  his.  The  public 
was  quite  satisfied,  it  seemed,  to'  admire  the  con- 
fectionery order  of  painting  that  was  all  the  ar- 
tistic descendants  of  the  great  powers  of  the 
Renaissance  had  to  give.  Only  by  his  own  innate 
appreciation  could  he  have  realized  that  something 
other  than  this  was  real  art,  — his  own  innate 
understanding  aided  by  the  daily  visions  of  the 
glowing  canvases  of  Titian,  Tintoretto,  and  Vero- 
nese, visions,  however,  that  his  brother  painters 
appeared  never  to  see.  Different  in  spirit,  in  mani- 
festation, as  he  is  from  these  giants  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  he  did  have  something  of  their 
power,  their  genius.  And  as  such  he  must  live, 
even  as  they  live,  though  his  plane  lies  far  below 
their  heights. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


ROOM  XIII. SALA  DEI  PAESISTA.  ROOM  XIV.  — 

SALA  DEL  TIEPOLO 

Room  13  holds  eight  pastel  portraits  by  Rosalba 
Camera,  besides  several  others  that  may  or  may  not 
be  her  own  work.  The  greatest  number  of  the 
pastels  of  this  famous  woman  are  in  the  Dresden 
Gallery,  but  some  of  these  in  Venice  rank  higher, 
artistically,  than  many  in  the  German  gallery. 
Among  the  best  are  the  portraits  of  herself,  of 
Cardinal  de  Polignac,  Abbot  le  Blond,  and  of  two 
noblemen. 

Her  own  represents  her  as  a woman  nearing 
later  middle  age,  with  curling  gray  hair,  dark,  ex- 
quisitely curved  eyebrows,  and  dark  eyes,  with  a 
chin  that  is  surely  if  not  strongly  double.  Her 
waist  is  red,  fur-edged,  cut  decollete,  over  a white 
lace  vest,  with  a blue  and  white  chiffon  scarf  fall- 
ing over  her  shoulders.  The  pure,  peach-toned 
complexion,  the  soft  contours  of  the  neck  and  bust, 
the  smooth,  untroubled  brow,  the  half-smiling  ex- 
pression, — these,  the  attributes  of  almost  all  the 

303 


3°4  TLbc  Hrt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcafcems 


feminine  portraits  by  Rosalba,  are  here  in  all  their 
perfection  of  rendering.  It  is  an  amiable  if  slightly 
self-satisfied  lady  that  the  artist  makes  of  herself, 
with  unmistakable  marks  of  the  woman  of  breed- 
ing, of  the  world  of  society.  Technically,  it  is 
better  drawn  than  many  of  her  most  celebrated 
works. 

The  Portrait  of  Cardinal  Polignac  shows  the 
prelate  turned  three-quarters  to  the  left,  wearing 
the  red  cap  of  his  office.  He  wears,  also,  the  blue 
ribbon  and  the  cross  of  the  Order  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  The  background  is  green.  It  is  a spirited 
yet  delicate  portrait  with  the  sympathetic,  sensitive 
touches  so  characteristic  of  Rosalba. 

The  painter  of  this  and  these  other  soft-toned, 
silvery  pastels,  Rosa  Alba  Carriera,  was  born  in 
Venice  in  1676,  and  before  she  was  twenty-four 
she  was  well-known  and  admired  for  her  minia- 
tures and  portrait-pastels.  She  was  eminently  suc- 
cessful all  through  her  long,  artistic  career,  her 
portraits  being  always  in  great  demand  in  all  the 
courts  of  Europe.  She  visited  France  when  about 
forty-five  and  was  made  much  of  by  court,  painters, 
musicians,  and  litterateurs.  Her  salon  was  crowded 
with  the  distinguished  people  of  the  day,  she  was 
made  an  Academician,  and  all  Paris  clamoured  for 
work  from  her  hand. 

The  fame  she  achieved  in  her  own  day  has  to 


PORTRAIT  OF  CARDINAL  POLIGNAC 

By  Rosalba  Camera 


IRoom  flfiriL  — Sala  fcei  paeststa  305 


a certain  extent  remained  hers  through  all  the 
changing  fashions  and  styles  of  the  years  since. 
It  is  perfectly  apparent  that  she  was  not  a good 
draughtsman ; that  she  had  never  sufficiently 
studied  the  human  figure  is  seen  in  her  frequently 
ill- joined  arms  and  shoulders,  heads  and  necks. 
It  is  even  probable  that  she  ,can  be  suspected  of 
following,  more  or  less  unconsciously,  a receipt  in 
mixing  her  flesh-tones.  Her  fair  women  have  a too1 
uniform  loveliness  of  pearly  skin,  rosy  cheeks,  and 
delicate,  greenish  shadows  that  sink  so  softly  into 
the  white  powdered  skin.  Yet,  there  is  so  much 
charm  to  these  courtly  dames  or  sentimental  maid- 
ens, such  a spiritual  touch  in  the  mere  handling 
of  the  crayon,  that  posterity  has  been  indulgent 
to  Rosalba’s  weaknesses  and  has  accorded  her  more 
praise  than  has  been  bestowed  upon  many  a 
stronger  painter. 

Of  as  indisputable  talent  as  Tiepolo  himself  was 
Pietro  Longhi,  who  has  a number  of  works  in  this 
room.  Though  he  never,  in  his  later  and  better 
years,  even  attempted  the  “ grand  style,”  he  as 
well  as  Gianbattista  can  be  called  a not  unworthy 
descendant  of  the  Venetian  painters  of  the  six- 
teenth century.  This,  too,  notwithstanding  that 
from  one  point  of  view  his  work  can  be  called 
slight,  almost  puerile.  It  deals  neither  with  big 
themes  nor  does  it  show  any  particular  largeness 


3°6  TLhc  Hrt  of  tbe  Denice  Hcabem^ 


of  treatment.  Longhi  aspired  to  be  neither  a 
painter  of  religious  scenes  nor  was  he  a decorator 
of  walls  or  ceilings.  His  art  dealt  principally  with 
just  such  subjects  as  have  always  delighted  the 
Dutchman’s  heart.  In  his  own  way,  from  the  point 
of  view  of  his  own  nationality,  he  was  as  fertile, 
as  delightful,  and  as  true  a painter  of  genre  as  was 
De  Hooch  or  Terborch.  And  certainly  not  even 
these  famous  Netherlanders  ever  better  adapted 
their  style  to  their  subjects.  He  does  not  concern 
himself  with  beauty,  per  se.  What  he  does  attempt 
is  to  portray  truthfully  the  daily,  intimate  life  of 
the  middle  and  upper  class  Venetians  of  his  day, 
a day,  by  the  way,  that  lasted  for  nearly  a century, 
for  Longhi  was  born  in  1702  and  lived  till  1785. 
He  is  as  true  an  historian  in  his  own  field  as  was 
Veronese  in  his.  Within  the  limits  of  his  little 
canvases  Venice  of  the  eighteenth  century  is  seen 
walking,  smiling,  dancing,  gossiping,  coquetting. 
And  if  he  seldom  touches  the  tragedy  that  under- 
lay this  rather  flippant  Venice,  he  is  only  express- 
ing Venice  as  she  was.  If  her  dominion  was  over, 
if  she  was  a slave  where  once  she  was  the  queen 
of  the  world,  at  least  she  outwardly  shed  no  tears 
regretting  her  past  glories.  The  sun  was  as  bright, 
the  lagoon  as  fair,  the  city  as  blooming  as  ever. 
Wherefore,  — smile  and  take  the  gifts  the  gods 
have  given,  and  live  the  life  that  is  next  you  with- 


IRoom  flMIf.  — Sala  bet  paeststa  3°7 


out  regrets.  That  is  the  key-note  to  these  gay 
little  scenes  from  Longhi’s  brush.  If,  as  Alexandre 
suggests,  he  occasionally  shows  something  of  the 
satirical  glee  of  a Hogarth,  it  is  but  for  a moment, 
and  he  is  back  again,  the  Venetian  philosopher, 
happy  in  his  own  individual  life  and  quite  willing 
to  let  Church  and  state  wag  as  they  will. 

In  the  Apothecary’s  Shop  the  proprietor  of  the 
establishment  is  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
a big  nightcap  on  his  head,  full  dressing-gown 
coming  almost  to  the  ground,  and  heavy-rimmed 
glasses  perched  far  down  on  his  long  Roman  nose. 
He  is  engaged  in  the  act  of  pulling  out  a tooth 
from  the  mouth  of  a young  woman  standing  beside 
him.  She  is  a buxom  maiden,  dressed  in  the  low- 
cut,  square  bodice  of  the  time.  On  one  side  farther 
back  a man  with  a long,  curly  wig  is  sitting  writing 
at  a table  next  a girl,  and  farther  back  still  are  seen 
a priest  and  another  wigged  man.  In  the  fore- 
ground a boy  is  filling  some,  bottles,  many  more  of 
which,  along  with  glasses,  china  mugs,  and  boxes, 
line  the  shelves  about  the  room. 

The  colour  here  is  perhaps  not  quite  equal  to 
some  of  the  others  in  the  same  room,  but  as  a bit 
of  pure  genre  it  can  hardly  be  excelled.  The  va- 
riety of  type  in  the  heads  and  the  character  dis- 
played in  each  face  make  it  worthy  to  rank  with  far 
more  noted  canvases. 


3°s  Ube  Hr t of  tbe  Dentce  Bcabemp 


More  brilliant  in  colour  is  the  Concert,  and  not 
less  remarkable  for  its  character  delineation.  Be- 
hind a table  covered  with  a brocaded  cover  stand 
the  three  musicians,  each  with  his  violin,  and  each 
playing  away  lustily.  The  one  in  the  centre,  who 
is  apparently  the  leader,  is  much  taller  than  the 
others,  and  in  his  full  yellow  gown  and  big  cap 
on  his  extraordinarily  pale  face  makes  an  imposing 
figure.  He  on  the  right  is  considerably  older  and, 
peering  through  glasses  that  are  half  off  his  nose, 
he  is  studying  the  music  before  him  in  an  anxiety 
that  fairly  doubles  him  over.  At  the  left  a much 
younger,  dark  haired  and  eyed  youth  follows  the 
score,  and  keeps  close  to  the  leader.  Somewhat 
back  of  this  group,  at  the  left,  a fat  monk  sits  at 
a small  table  playing  cards  with  a thin-faced  old 
man,  another,  younger  one,  observing  the  play 
from  behind  through  a monocle.  None  of  these  is 
paying  the  slightest  attention  to  the  music,  and  if 
Longhi  was  slyly  smiling  when  he  placed  that 
gross-featured,  swollen-eyed  monk  next  the 
hatchet-faced  old  gentleman  with  his  deprecatory 
manner,  he  must  have  been  fairly  laughing  when 
he  made  the  only  auditor  of  the  concert  the  tiny 
pet  dog  sitting  on  the  chair  in  front  of  the  table. 
Her  intense  absorption  in  the  playing  is  wonderful 
to  behold.  It  must,  one  is  tempted  to  think,  have 
been  quite  as  satisfying  to  the  trio  as  any  that  could 


THE  CONCERT 
By  Pietro  Longhi 


IRoom  flfflL  — Sala  hci  paeststa  3° 9 

have  been  manufactured  by  the  card-players  be- 
hind! 

The  Dancing  Master  introduces  a more  aristo- 
cratic company.  Here  is  the  interior  of  a stately 
furnished  room  with  a tremendous  sofa  at  the  back, 
deep  hangings  at  the  window,  and  an  elaborately 
framed  picture  on  the  wall.  / The  central  part  of 
the  room  is  quite  filled  by  the  voluminous  skirts 
of  the  young  girl  who  is  being  instructed  in  the 
mysteries  of  “ steps  ” by  the  master  in  peruke  and 
wide  sweeping  coat.  He  is  standing  facing  her, 
the  tips  of  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  just  touch- 
ing the  tips  of  hers.  He  is  a very  debonair  danc- 
ing-master in  his  fine  silk  hose  and  shiny  buckled 
shoes,  lace  ruffles,  and  immaculate  peruke.  Not 
altogether  satisfied  does  he  appear  with  the  pirouet- 
ting of  his  fair  pupil  either,  for  he  is  pointing  down 
to  her  little  slippered  feet  as  if  emphasizing  his 
admonitions.  She  is  dressed  right  royally  in  an 
extremely  low  bodice  trimmed  with  fur,  jewels 
about  her  neck  and  in  her  ears,  and  lace  frills  stick- 
ing out  on  each  side  of  her  head  almost  like  a 
Dutch  cap.  At  the  left,  in  the  foreground,  sits  the 
duenna  in  rich  furs  and  silks,  and  in  the  back- 
ground the  fiddler  plays  with  as  disinterested  an 
air  as  if  he  were  a machine  guaranteed  to  go  till 
it  runs  down!  The  colour  and  atmosphere  of  this 


3io 


Ufoe  Brt  ot  tbe  Dentce  Bcabem^ 


little  canvas  are  delightful,  and  the  serious  air  per- 
vading the  scene  of  frivolity  is  vastly  amusing. 

There  are  several  pictures  by  Zuccherelli  in  both 
Rooms  13  and  14,  one  of  the  better  ones  in  the 
latter  being  the  Repose  in  Egypt.  In  this  the  Ma- 
donna is  shown  in  the  middle  of  the  scene,  sitting 
on  a hillock,  turned  in  profile  to  the  right,  holding 
the  Child  Jesus.  Somewhat  behind,  at  the  left, 
Joseph  is  seen  picking  fruit.  At  the  right  is  a 
river,  farther  in  the  distance  a house,  and  moun- 
tains break  the  horizon. 

Francesco  Zuccarelli,  as  his  name  is  also  spelled, 
was  born  at  Pitigliano,  Tuscany,  about  1792.  He 
was  a pupil  of  Gian  Maria  Morandi  of  Rome,  and 
he  worked  at  Venice,  London,  and  Florence,  in 
which  place  he  died  in  1788.  He  was  both  a land- 
scape and  a figure  painter.  Lanzi  says  of  him  that 
he  “ applied  himself  to  painting  landscape ; and 
pursued  it  in  a manner  that  united  strength  and 
sweetness  ; . . . his  figures  were  also  elegant,  and 
these  he  was  sometimes  employed  to  introduce  in 
the  landscapes  and  architectural  pieces  of  other 
artists.”  He  lived  in  England  for  a good  many 
years  where  he  was  greatly  favoured  by  George 
III.,  and  he  was  one  of  the  original  members  of  the 
English  Royal  Academy.  For  the  degenerate  time 
in  which  he  lived  he  was  a not  unsuccessful  painter. 
Compared  with  even  the  second-rate  men  of  the 


IRoom  flflflL  — Sala  fret  paeststa  31 1 


golden  days  of  the  Renaissance,  however,  he  was 
puerile,  affected,  and  insufficiently  trained. 

Decidedly  more  real  talent  had  Giovanni  Bat- 
tista Piazzetta,  who  has  one  very  charming  picture 
in  Room  14.  Battista  was  born  in  1683  and  died 
in  1754.  He  studied  the  works  of  Guercino  in 
Bologna,  and  this  painter’s  influence  can  easily  be 
seen  in  his  compositions,  although  M.  Charles 
Blanc  has  called  him  “ a Venetian  Caravaggio.” 
Molmenti  says  that  he  was  superior  to  Lazzarini 
both  by  the  vigour  of  his  colour  and  the  solidity 
of  his  forms.  His  flesh-tones  have  a luminous, 
tender  quality  that  makes  them  very  charming, 
and  his  chiaroscuro  shows  a comprehension  of 
the  dramatic  possibilities  of  light  and  shade  that 
superficially  may  indeed  remind  one  of  Caravag- 
gio. But  he  has  a lightness  of  touch  and  fancy 
that,  though  partaking  of  the  triviality  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  is  remarkably  effective  in  both 
his  religious  scenes  and  his  pictures  of  genre.  He 
is  at  his  best  in  what  may  be  called  semiportraiture. 
The  heads  in  his  pictures  show  his  faculty  for  in- 
dicating momentary  emotion,  though  the  emotion 
may  not  be  profound  or  deep. 

One  of  his  most  attractive  pictures  anywhere, 
and  by  far  the  best  in  the  Academy,  is  the  one 
called  the  Fortune-teller,  in  Room  14.  It  repre- 
sents a young  girl  seated  in  nearly  full  face  on  a 


312 


Ube  Brt  of  tbe  \Dentce  Hcabemp 


rock,  holding  a little  dog  under  one  arm,  while 
another  girl  leans  over  her  at  the  left,  holding  her 
hand.  Back,  at  the  right,  a youth  in  profile  and 
a third  maiden  are  talking  and  laughing  wholly 
regardless  of  the  others  in  front.  The  light  strikes 
full  against  the  girl  on  the  rock,  emphasizing  her 
smiling  face,  crowned  by  its  straw  hat,  intensify- 
ing the  bright  tones  of  her  white  dress  and  pink 
underskirt,  and  sweeping,  too,  over  the  soft,  round 
prettiness  of  the  fortune-teller’s  bare  shoulder. 
Not  less  effective  is  the  treatment  of  the  two 
farther  away  from  the  centre  of  interest;  espe- 
cially charming  is  the  piquant  face  of  the  girl  look- 
ing up  at  her  admirer  with  a half-tender,  half- 
laughing  gaze.  It  is  an  expression  that  fairly 
characterizes  the  whole  picture.  What  might  be 
sentimentality,  under  the  gay  insouciance  of  Piaz- 
zetta’s  treatment  is  transformed  to  a sort  of  half- 
tender amusement.  Technically,  the  freedom  and 
ease  of  the  brush-work,  the  well-balanced  compo- 
sition, and  the  excellent  understanding  shown  in 
construction,  modelling,  and  chiaroscuro,  joined  to 
a really  lovely  colour  scheme,  make  this  not  un- 
worthy of  a painter  who  is  said  to  have  influenced 
Tiepolo,  and  who  was  the  greater  man’s  brother- 
in-law. 

Antonio  Canale,  born  in  1697  and  dying  in  1768, 
and  Francesco  Guardi,  fifteen  years  younger,  are 


IRoorn  £111.  — Sala  Dei  ffmesista  313 


the  two  painters  of  the  eighteenth  century  whose 
entire  talents  were  devoted  to  reproducing  the  out- 
ward aspects  of  their  city.  Though  they  are  less 
alike  in  their  renderings  than  the  ordinary  ob- 
server supposes,  neither  ever  tired  of  portraying 
the  streets,  the  piazzi,  the  canals,  the  palaces,  and 
the  churches  of  the  Queen  pf  the  Adriatic.  Even 
to-day  the  pictures  by  these  two  men  are  sought 
for  with  avidity  by  the  connoisseur  and  the  dilet- 
tante. Canaletto’s  art  was  more  exact,  more  pho- 
tographic, more  true.  His  drawing  was  infinitely 
superior  to  Guardi’s,  and  his  perspective  was  mar- 
vellously perfect.  His  treatment  of  light  and  shade 
shows  less  forced  contrasts  than  does  that  of 
Guardi,  the  latter  achieving  by  this  very  means  a 
brilliance,  a sparkle,  an  iridescence  of  tone  that 
seldom  appears  in  the  canvases  of  the  more  re- 
strained Canaletto.  Guardi  is  an  idealist  where 
Canaletto  may  be  called  a realist.  At  times 
Guardi’s  works  show  a poetic  vision  rare  with 
Canaletto,  but  on  the  other  hand  Guardi’s  very 
lack  of  the  sterner  foundation  of  his  art  gives  his 
buildings,  his  towers,  his  churches,  an  unstable, 
unbuilt  appearance.  Mr.  Simonson,  in  his  appre- 
ciation of  Guardi,  admirably  sums  him  up  as  fol- 
lows : “ The  great  charm  of  his  best  paintings  con- 
sists in  the  bloom  which  he  imparted  to  them.  . . . 
they  have  an  appearance  of  freshness  as  if  they  had 


3i4  Zhc  Brt  of  tbe  Venice  Bcabem^ 


only  just  been  painted.  The  harmony  o»f  soft 
tones  peculiar  to  his  pictures  may  be  likened  unto 
that  of  the  colours  of  the  rainbow,  in  which  each 
colour  passes  over  into  the  one  next  to  it  almost 
imperceptibly.  Soberness  of  tone  is  a character- 
istic common  to  all  his  works.  ...  In  the  treat- 
ment of  colour  he  aimed  at  decorative  harmony 
rather  than  truth.”  “ Canale,”  says  the  same  critic, 
“ did  not  harmonize  his  tones  as  perfectly  as 
Guardi,  and  was  not,  generally  speaking,  as  good 
a colourist  as  his  pupil.  His  schemes  of  colour  are 
severer  than  Guardi.” 

Neither  one  of  these  two  men  is  adequately 
represented  at  the  Academy.  Indeed,  the  finest 
works  of  each  are  to  be  found,  not  in  Italy,  but  in 
England.  The  best  of  the  three  Canale’s  is  the 
one  in  Room  14,  the  Scuola  Grande  of  S.  Marco. 
This  is  small,  but  light  and  bright  in  tone,  with 
the  sunlight  dancing  on  the  right  side  of  the  pic- 
ture, the  left  thrown  into  shadow.  Gondolas  and 
boats  of  all  sorts  are  seen  at  the  left  on  the  Canal 
Mendicanti;  at  the  right  is  a view  of  the  Scuola, 
which  is  now  the  city  hospital,  and  the  Church  of 
SS.  Giovanni  e Paolo>.  On  the  quay  are  a number 
of  promenaders. 

In  the  same  room  are  several  canvases  by  Guardi. 
One,  which  has  been  catalogued  under  the  name  of 
Canale,  is  the  Courtyard  of  a Palace,  with  the  deli- 


Hoorn  flTfflL  — Sala  &et  paesista  315 


cate  fagade  and  stairways  and  porticoed  entrances 
that  can  only  be  found  in  Venice.  His  most  beau- 
tiful work  here,  however,  is  the  view  of  S.  Giorgio 
Maggiore,  which  was  presented  to  the  Academy  by 
Prince  Liechtenstein.  At  the  left  are  shown  the 
fagade  of  the  church,  the  cupola,  and  the  Cam- 
panile. On  the  right,  with  the  sea  against  the  hori- 
zon between,  is  the  Island  of  the  Giudecca  with  II 
Redentore.  The  entire  foreground  is  the  Grand 
Canal  filled  with  fishing-boats  and  barks  of  all 
sorts.  The  rippling  of  the  waves,  sun-kissed,  the 
depth  of  tone  in  the  wide-arching  sky,  the  softness 
of  the  middle  distance,  are  here  Guardi  at  his 
best. 

Of  the  four  pictures  catalogued  under  Tiepolo’s 
name,  St.  Joseph  with  the  Child  Jesus  accompanied 
by  Four  Saints,  which  is  in  this  room,  is  the  only 
one  in  the  Academy  given  him  by  Berenson.  It 
is  a characteristic  composition,  with  amazingly 
clever  drawing  and  a striking  use  of  shadow. 

In  the  foreground,  on  the  lowest  step  of  what  is 
presumably  an  altar  within  a church,  kneels  St. 
Francis  of  Paolo,  in  his  t monk’s  robes,  with  the 
hood  pulled  over  his  head.  He  is  leaning  forward 
on  his  staff,  but  instead  of  gazing  altarward  his 
face  is  turned  around  over  his  shoulder,  his  eyes 
straying  out  of  the  picture.  On  the  pedestal  before 
him  Joseph  is  holding  the  Child  Jesus.  He  is  a 


316  Ube  Hrt  ot  tbe  IDenlce  Bcabemp 


fat,  solidly  built  infant,  with  large,  steady  eyes, 
and  thick  curling  hair,  and  only  the  glow  about 
his  head  differentiates  him  from  any  baby  of  the 
eighteenth  or  the  present  century.  Joseph,  who 
stands  behind  him,  is  an  impressive,  if  slightly 
melodramatic,  figure.  He  is  in  full  face,  and  the 
light  strikes  him  sharply  across  the  forehead  and 
floods  the  left  side  of  his  head,  throwing  the  other 
into  deep,  resonant  shadow.  This  shadow  spreads 
over  his  entire  right  shoulder,  arm,  and  chest, 
making  the  brilliantly  lighted  flesh  of  the  baby’s 
body  all  the  more  marked  against  this  sombre  back- 
ground. Joseph’s  left  hand  is  pressed  against  his 
heart,  and  he  is  apparently  begging  for  his  precious 
charge  the  mercy  of  Heaven.  More  appealing  than 
his  pleading,  emotion-stirred  face  is  that  splendidly 
drawn  hand,  with  the  light  and  shadow  playing  so 
marvellously  upon  it  that  it  seems  positively  artic- 
ulate with  expression.  Just  as  realistic,  if  some- 
thing less  fine  in  feeling,  are  the  joined  hands  of 
Anna,  who,  represented  as  an  old  but  still  vigorous 
woman,  is  kneeling  at  the  right  of  the  pedestal. 
The  shadow  mostly  envelops  her,  but  her  hands, 
her  left  shoulder,  and  left  side  of  face  are  thrown 
into  light  only  less  intense  than  that  which  plays 
over  the  baby’s  body.  Behind  her,  one  leaning 
against  a huge  cross,  the  other  in  profile  beside 
him,  are  two  tonsured  saints,  the  serene  contem- 


ST.  JOSEPH  WITH  THE  CHILD  JESUS  ACCOMPANIED  BY 
FOUR  SAINTS 
By  Tiepolo 


IRoom  fimh-Sala  bex  paeststa  3*7 


plation  of  the  latter  a foil  for  the  wrinkled,  lined, 
agonized  face  of  the  other. 

Here,  as  in  most  of  Tiepolo’s  canvases,  it  is  over- 
expression, theatric  gestures,  and  facial  contor- 
tions that  cheapen  the  artistic  value  of  works  that, 
nevertheless,  are  of  undoubted  genius. 

In  this  room  is  one  example  of  that  side  of  Tie- 
polo’s art  in  which  he  was  unquestionably  the 
greatest.  For  it  is  as  a decorator  of  walls  and  ceil- 
ings that  the  eighteenth-century  painter  is  most 
audaciously  extraordinary,  most  triumphantly  suc- 
cessful. His  frescoes  show  him  the  lineal  descend- 
ant of  the  greatest  Venetian  mural  painter  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  Paolo*  Veronese. 

St.  Helena  Finding  the  Holy  Cross  is  a round 
ceiling  fresco  painted  originally  for  the  Church  of 
the  Capucines  at  Castello.  It  has  been  restored, 
but  for  once  the  renovator  did  not  succeed  in  spoil- 
ing the  beautiful  creation.  The  clear,  silvery 
lights,  the  harmony  of  the  darker,  richer  tones,  the 
daring  originality  of  the  composition,  the  extraor- 
dinary foreshortening,  showing  such  complete  mas- 
tery of  perspective  and  construction,  — all  this, 
remarkable  as  it  is,  is  nothing  compared  with  the 
luminosity  that  radiates  from  the  whole  surface 
and  makes  it  seem  as  if  one’s  eyes  were  actually 
gazing  into  unfathomable  ether. 

Standing  on  what  might  be  a cornice  of  a mar- 


3l8  Zhc  Hrt  of  tbe  IDentce  Bca&entp 


ble  temple  that  rises  high  against  the  sky,  is  St. 
Helena.  Dressed  in  richest  satins  that  almost  over- 
whelm her  with  their  billowing  folds  and  flying 
draperies,  a string  of  pearls  in  her  blond  hair,  she 
is  showing  to  the  gathered  peoples  of  the  earth  the 
True  Cross.  This  is  held  in  place  before  her  by  the 
bare,  straining,  muscular  arms  of  half-nude  men. 
At  the  foot  of  the  cross  kneels  a white-bearded 
bishop  in  elaborate  dalmatic.  In  front  of  him,  at 
the  lower,  outer  edge  of  the  circle,  are  a workman 
with  a long-handled  spade,  a dog,  other  men,  and 
horses,  all  in  an  inextricable  confusion.  Across 
from  Helena,  on  what  appears  like  an  open  car, 
are  the  sick  and  wounded,  stretched  on  mattress 
or  held  up  by  others,  all  gazing  with  adoring  faith 
at  the  cross.  Behind  them,  only  partly  within  the 
composition,  comes  a galloping  steed  bearing  a 
plumed,  helmet ed  knight  riding  as  if  on  a race 
with  death  itself.  All  this  part  of  the  composition 
fills  considerably  less  than  half  the  circle.  The  rest 
is  sky  and  clouds  and  floating-winged  babies,  cher- 
ubim, and  soft-robed  angels  swinging  censers  and 
holding  the  placard  marked  I.  N.  R.  I.  The  light- 
ness and  delicacy  of  the  sky  and  the  lilt  and  spring 
of  these  angelic  forms  are  fairly  indescribable. 


ST.  HELENA  FINDING  THE  HOLY  CROSS 
By  Tiepolo 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


LOGGIA  P ALLADI  AN  A AND  FIRST  AND  SECOND  COR- 
RIDOR 

Much  spoiled  by  the  cracking  of  the  paint  and 
probably  by  the  restorer,  is  the  long  wall-panelling 
in  the  Loggia  Palladiana,  by  Tiepolo,  called  the 
Brazen  Serpent.  It  is  probably  not  wholly  by 
Gianbattista,  but  may  have  come  from  his  studio 
where  his  son  and  other  assistants  helped  him  with 
his  large  decorative  work. 

The  subject  gives  opportunity  for  the  display  of 
wonderful  knowledge  of  the  human  figure,  and  in 
the  twisted,  bent,  doubled-up,  and  contorted  limbs, 
arms,  and  bodies  of  these  anguished  Israelites 
Tiepolo  proves  his  mastery  incontrovertibly.  The 
suitability  of  its  subject  for  pictorial  decoration 
might  be  as  much  questioned  as  that  of  the  Mas- 
sacre of  the  Innocents,  about  which  Ruskin  could 
find  nothing  too  bad  to  say. 

In  Loggia  Palladiana,  as  well  as  in  the  first  cor- 
ridor and  in  Room  19,  Feti  has  examples  of  his 
works.  By  far  the  best  of  these  is  the  one  called 

319 


32° 


Ube  Brt  ot  tbe  Dentce  Bcabetnp 


Melancholy,  which  is  in  the  Loggia.  This  is  the 
figure  of  a woman  similar  to  one  by  him  in  the 
Louvre,  and  it  is  painted  with  real  expression  and 
feeling. 

Domenico  Feti  was  a Roman,  born  in  1589  and 
dying  at  Venice  in  1624.  He  was  a pupil  of 
Ludovico  Cardi,  and  is  enrolled  among  the  natn- 
ralisti,  though  he  studied  perhaps  most  of  all  the 
works  of  Giulio  Romano.  He  painted  Biblical  and 
mythological  scenes  as  well  as  portraits,  and  his 
oil-paintings  are  decidedly  better  than  his  frescoes. 
He  is  mostly  represented  by  small  genre  pictures, 
but  some  of  his  portraits  are  spirited  and  lifelike. 

By  Placido  Fabris  are  eleven  pictures,  all  in  the 
Loggia.  Of  these,  Amour  and  Psyche  is  one  of 
the  least  attractive.  It  depicts  Psyche  nude  to  her 
hips,  lying  back  on  a rock  within  a grotto,  her  eyes 
lifted  to  Amour,  who  is  poised  just  above  her  head, 
an  arrow  in  one  hand,  the  other  touching  her  curly 
hair  with  its  finger-tips.  They  are  very  ordinary 
types,  and  might  better  have  posed  as  chorus  for 
a comic  opera.  Skill  in  modelling  and  graceful 
handling  of  draperies  do  not  save  the  picture  from 
being  hopelessly  decadent. 

Far  different  is  the  Portrait  of  the  Dead  Canova. 
Here  is  no  straining  for  effect,  no  sinking  into  the 
merely  pretty,  no  catering  to  the  lowered  taste  of 
the  times.  It  shows  only  the  head  of  the  dead 


PORTRAIT  OF  THE  DEAD  CANOVA 
By  Placido  Fabris 


Xoggia  pallafciana 


321 


sculptor  lying  back  in  profile  on  the  pillows,  the 
eyes  half-closed,  the  long  Roman  nose  and  iron 
jaw  attenuated  by  age  and  illness.  It  is  painted 
broadly,  simply,  and  with  a rigid  insistence  upon 
truth  that  in  its  very  barrenness  of  presentation 
possesses  an  infinite  pathos. 

But  it  is  in  such  a portrait  as  that  of  Captain 
Gaspar  Craglietto  where  Fabris  is  seen  at  his  best. 
It  is  the  likeness  of  an  elderly  man,  facing  three- 
quarters  to  the  right,  while  his  eyes  are  turned  to 
the  left.  He  wears  a high  stock,  has  thin,  white, 
curling  hair,  with  neither  beard  nor  moustache  to 
help  cover  up  that  pleasant  but  determined  mouth 
with  its  long  upper  lip.  The  keenness  of  regard  in 
those  wide-open  eyes  is  indicative  of  the  abounding 
life  expressed  in  the  whole  countenance.  Every- 
where, in  the  firm  planes  of  the  flesh,  in  the  sharp, 
decided  lines  of  the  contour,  it  is  that  impression 
of  life,  vitality,  actuality,  that  Fabris  has  succeeded 
in  expressing  to  a remarkable  extent.  The  smooth- 
ness of  the  modelling  and  the  exquisite  handling 
of  the  brush  help  rather  than  hinder  this  impres- 
sion. 

The  Flemish  painter  of  dogs,  birds,  and  all  kinds 
of  game,  who  ranks  hardly  second  to  Snyders,  has 
only  one  picture  in  the  Academy,  which,  though  a 
characteristic,  is  far  from  being  a celebrated  piece. 
Scarcely  any  one  could  portray  dead  game  as  could 


2,22 


TTbe  Hr t of  tbe  Venice  Bcabemp 


Jan  Fyt.  His  brush  was  so  supple,  so  light,  so 
minute,  and  at  the  same  time  so  broad  in  its  ex- 
ecution, that  he  was  particularly  happy  in  his  ren- 
dering of  fur  and  feathers.  He  was  born  in  Ant- 
werp nearly  thirty  years  after  Snyders,  but  he 
outlived  him  only  four  years,  dying  in  1651.  His 
dogs  are  as  wonderful  creations  as  are  those  by 
the  older  man,  and  his  pictures  of  hunts  are  as  full 
of  life  and  fire.  The  Dead  Game  piece  by  him  in 
the  Loggia  Palladiana  is  not  up  to  his  capabilities, 
but  the  dead  hare  and  partridge  and  the  dog  look- 
ing in  at  the  spoils  give  some  idea  of  his  flexible 
brush  in  the  treatment  of  feathers  and  fur. 

Shown  at  more  nearly  his  true  worth  is  Honde- 
coeter  with  his  two  canvases  in  the  Loggia.  One 
of  these  represents  the  victorious  survivor  of  a 
cock-fight.  These  battles  of  the  barnyard  were 
favourite  themes  with  him,  and  he  has  painted 
many  bitter  onslaughts  where  feathers  were  fly- 
ing, where  beak  and  spur,  claws  and  wings,  were 
as  deadly  weapons  as  gun  or  bayonet.  Here  the 
encounter  is  over.  His  enemy  is  vanquished,  and 
the  great  white  rooster  stands  with  feet  planted 
wide  apart,  his  ruffled  but  uninjured  wings  slightly 
spread,  his  white  breast  swelling  with  the  glory 
of  victory,  his  eye  blazing  gratification,  his  beak 
open,  proclaiming  far  and  wide  the  news  of  his 
might  and  power.  At  his  feet  at  the  left  is  his 


BATTLE  OF  COCKS 
By  Melchior  d’Hondecoeter 


%o03ia  pailaMana 


323 


opponent,  his  eye  already  glazing  in  death.  On 
a rock  at  the  right  is  a white  hen,  her  whole  mien 
one  of  frenzy,  whether  in  joy  or  grief  at  her  lord’s 
triumph,  who  shall  say? 

The  other  canvas  is  a quieter  scene,  showing  a 
handsome  white  hen  in  a yard  with  four  chickens, 
and  slightly  back  a rooster  standing  on  a rock  with 
all  the  assurance  and  ease  of  the  lord  of  the  manor. 
At  the  left  is  a peacock.  Hondecoeter’s  tendency 
to  black  shadows  is  seen  in  both  of  these,  but  on 
the  whole  they  show  his  consummate  mastery  in 
portraying  the  forms,  the  characteristics,  and  the 
habits  of  the  poultry-yard. 

Melchior  d’Hondecoeter  was  a pupil  of  his 
father,  Gijsbert,  a little  known  painter,  and  later 
on  of  J.  B.  Weenix,  who  was  his  uncle.  He  was 
born  in  Brabant  in  1636,  but  moved  early  to 
Amsterdam  and  died  there  in  1695.  Hondecoeter 
is  the  Van  Dyck  of  the  poultry-yard.  His  cocks, 
hens,  ducks,  geese,  and  pigeons  have  the  dignity, 
the  suavity,  the  ease  of  high  breeding,  the  brilliant 
robes,  and  the  perfect  aplomb  of  Van  Dyck’s  por- 
traits of  royalty.  No  one  else  has  ever  so  truth- 
fully, so  vigorously,  so  intimately  portrayed  the 
domestic  feathered  tribe.  His  brush  was  light  and 
sure,  and  his  knowledge  of  bird  and  poultry  an- 
atomy was  prodigious.  He  never  failed,  either, 
to  indicate  with  unerring  touches  the  individual 


324  Ufoe  Htt  of  tbe  Uentce  Hcabemp 


characteristics  of  his  model.  His  presentation  of 
the  lordly  pride  and  unquenchable  self-assurance 
of  Mein  Herr,  the  “ Cock  of  the  Walk,”  was  glee- 
fully appreciative  of  the  mightiness  of  him  de- 
picted. But  no  touch  of  caricature,  no  hint  of  the 
human  point  of  view,  ever  entered  to  spoil  the  ab- 
solute naturalness  of  his  portrait.  Hondecoeter 
painted  not  only  the  ordinary  denizens  of  the  barn- 
yard, but  swans,  parrots,  peacocks,  and  other  for- 
eign birds  as  well.  Generally  speaking,  his  colour 
may  be  called  extremely  brilliant  and  clear.  In  the 
shadows,  however,  he  frequently  shows  a heavy 
darkness,  and  at  times  this  dun-coloured  note  strays 
even  into  his  lights. 

It  is  for  historical  rather  than  artistic  reasons 
that  Le  Brun’s  painting  of  the  Magdalen  deserves 
attention.  When,  after  the  downfall  of  Napoleon, 
France  was  ordered  to  disgorge  the  art  treasures 
which  her  conquering  armies  had  brought  in  tri- 
umph from  the  Italy  they  had  pillaged,  she  used 
every  possible  means  to  disregard  the  command. 
All  sorts  of  expedients  were  attempted  to  prevent 
the  return  of  the  priceless  art  gems.  Various  pic- 
tures and  statues  entirely  disappeared,  and  of 
others  it  was  stoutly  maintained  that  they  did  not 
belong  to  the  nations  claiming  them.  In  most 
cases,  however,  she  was  forced  to  give  up  her 
spoils.  In  one  signal  instance,  nevertheless,  she 


Xoagia  pallaMana 


325 


scored  victoriously.  Veronese’s  great  Cena,  which 
Napoleon  had  sent  home  from  Venice,  was  declared 
by  the  authorities  of  the  Louvre  to  be  in  such  frail 
condition  that  another  removal  would  unquestion- 
ably wreck  it  for  ever.  And  so  persistently  did 
she  urge  this,  backed  up  by  the  unmistakable  in- 
juries which  its  journey  from  Venice  had  wrought 
upon  it,  that  finally  she  won  the  day.  The  Cena 
stayed  in  Paris,  and  for  it  in  exchange  France 
sent  to  Venice  this  flamboyant  Magdalen,  by  her 
own  son  of  a degenerate  art,  Le  Brun.  Consider- 
ing the  fact  that  some  of  the  highest  authorities 
on  the  ethics  of  war  and  conquest  believe  that 
France  had  a right  to  keep  a certain  part  of  her 
ceded  treasures,  one  can  hardly  help  smiling  in 
sympathy  with  the  adroitness  of  the  Gallic  wit  in 
this  case.  At  the  same  time  the  Academy  of  Ven- 
ice is  no  place  for  such  a work  as  this  poor  sample 
of  the  art  of  Louis  XIV. 

It  represents  the  interior  of  a rich  festival-hall 
of  classic  lines  of  architecture,  in  the  centre  of 
which,  on  a couch  beside  a table  elaborately  spread, 
lies  Jesus,  dressed  in  a red  robe  and  blue  mantle, 
his  profile  turned  to  the  right,  his  hand  extended 
to  the  Magdalen,  who  is  kneeling  before  him  with 
her  hands  joined  in  prayer.  Her  dress  is  blue, 
over  which  is  a mantle  of  yellow.  At  the  left  is 
a merry  company  in  Oriental  costumes.  Above, 


326  tTbe  Hrt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcabemp 


from  the  ceiling,  is  suspended  a green  drapery,  and 
in  the  background  near  a wall  is  seen  a young  page 
preparing  an  incense.  Nothing  in  this  picture  is 
simple,  natural,  or  direct.  The  overloaded  dra- 
peries, forced  gestures,  red  tones,  crowded  compo- 
sition, and  whole  theatric  grandiose  aspect  are 
characteristic  of  the  man  who  was  fit  exponent  of 
the  follies,  grandeur,  and  interminable  posings  of 
the  Grand  Monarque.  Ruskin’s  scathing  compari- 
son of  the  two  pictures  is  really  not  overdrawn. 
“ The  Cena  of  Paolo  Veronese  being  worth,  I 
should  say,  roughly,  about  ten  good  millions  of 
sterling  ducats,  or  twenty  ironclads;  and  the  Le 
Brun  worth,  if  it  were  put  to  its  proper  use,  pre- 
cisely what  its  canvas  may  now  be  worth  to  make 
a packing-case  of.” 

Very  mediocre  works  are  mostly  in  the  corri- 
dors, among  them  canvases  by  Palma  Giovane, 
Domenico  Tintoretto,  Feti,  Bordone,  and  Padova- 
nino. 

Francesco  Beccaruzzi,  who  was  a pupil  of  Por- 
denone,  has  in  the  first  corridor  a picture  which 
has  been  considered  by  Riaolfi  as  his  masterpiece. 
This  is  St.  Francis  Receiving  the  Stigmata.  It 
is  a large  composition  with  life-size  figures.  In 
the  foreground  are  the  six  saints,  Ludovic,  Damian, 
Catherine,  Jerome,  Paul,  and  Anthony,  bearing 
their  emblems.  St.  Francis  is  removed  somewhat 


%OQQia  pallafctana 


327 


from  this  group,  and  kneels  on  a hillock  in  the 
middle  distance,  near  some  trees.  Beyond  is  a 
wide-stretched  landscape.  From  the  sky  above 
rays  of  light  are  spreading  out,  descending  to  the 
lifted  hands  of  the  kneeling  saint.  Cherubim  and 
the  crucifix  can  be  seen  in  the  centre  of  this 
heavenly  glory.  The  compositional  qualities  of 
this  picture  are  excellent,  and  some  of  the  heads 
are  finely  delineated,  St.  Catherine  being  especially 
lovely.  The  picture  was  painted  for  an  altar-piece 
in  the  Church  of  the  Franciscans  at  Conegliano. 

Perhaps  as  satisfactory  as  any  of  these  generally 
very  unsatisfactory  pictures  in  these  halls  are  sev- 
eral canvases  by  Padovanino  of  children.  They 
show  a side  of  his  art  in  which  he  was  unusually 
successful.  Before  him  Italian  painters  had  seldom 
succeeded  in  painting  childhood.  They  could  de- 
pict baby  angels  or  putti  at  the  foot  of  the  Ma- 
donna’s throne,  but  when  it  came  to  simple,  every- 
day children,  they  generally  failed.  Their  tiny 
boys  and  girls  look  mostly  like  diminutive  men  and 
women.  Padovanino  has  been  called  a mere  imi- 
tator of  Titian  and  Veronese.  In  his  pictures  of 
children,  at  least,  if  nowhere  else,  he  shows  real 
originality.  And  perhaps  his  greatest  claim  to 
artistic  immortality  is  the  fact  that  he  was  prac- 
tically the  first  Italian  to  paint  childhood  success- 
fully. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


ROOM  VI.  — SALA  DEL  CALLOT.  ROOM  VIII. SALA 

DEI  FIAMMINGHI 

With  the  exception  of  the  canvases  by  foreign 
painters,  which  are  in  the  Loggia  Palladiana, 
Rooms  6 and  8 hold  practically  all  the  works  by 
non-Italian  painters  in  the  Academy.  As  has  been 
already  said  more  than  once,  these  are  with  few 
exceptions  extremely  poor  examples  of  the  art  of 
the  men  whose  works  they  purport  to  be.  There 
are  so  few  that  are  worth  considering  at  all  that 
they  may  be  briefly  mentioned  here  in  the  order 
of  the  date  of  their  production,  irrespective  of 
which  room  they  are  in. 

Undoubtedly  one  of  the  most  important  of  all 
these  foreign  pictures  is  the  portrait  which  is  now 
generally  ascribed  to  Roger  Van  der  Weyden,  but 
which,  till  very  recently,  was  given  to  Hugo  Van 
der  Goes.  It  is  in  Room  8,  and  is  a panel  painted 
on  both  sides.  The  outer  and  principal  surface  is 
the  half-length  portrait  of  a man  turned  three- 
quarters  to  the  left,  his  hands  joined  prayerwise, 

328 


tRoom  101L  — Sala  Del  Gallot 


329 


his  heavy-lidded  eyes  gazing  into  the  distance 
straight  before  him.  It  is  a youthful,  beardless 
face,  his  black  hair  banged  across  his  forehead, 
but  at  some  height  above  his  strongly  marked  dark 
eyebrows,  his  nose  long  and  of  delicate  outline, 
his  lips  full,  and  chin  and  neck  both  long.  Long, 
too,  are  the  slender  fingers,  with  some  of  the  joints 
puffed  out  of  regularity,  though  the  back  of  the 
hand  is  soft  and  smooth,  with  a tendency  to  flesh 
and  dimples.  He  is  clad  in  an  outer  cloak  of 
brown,  buttoned  tight  about  his  throat,  the  sleeves 
and  neck  edged  with  gray  fur.  The  background 
is  green,  and  on  it  at  the  left  is  traced  the  word 
Raison , and  opposite,  Lensaigne. 

The  minute,  miniaturelike  execution  and  the  flat- 
ness of  the  tones  do  not  at  all  derogate  from  the 
wonderful  modelling  of  the  face  and  hands.  Where 
later  art  has  used  strongly  contrasted  shadows  to 
attain  the  effect  of  roundness,  Van  der  Weyden  and 
all  the  early  Northerners  achieved  much  the  same 
result  by  a delicate  manipulation  of  tones  which 
melt  one  into  another  with  scarcely  any  variation 
in  depth  or  intensity.  Not  less  remarkable  is  the 
personality  here  expressed.  The  face  is  not  typi- 
cal, but  extremely  individual,  portraying  a person- 
ality with  a frankness  that  is  extraordinarily  subtle. 
Equally  carefully  characterized  are  the  hands, 
hands  that  could  never  have  belonged  to  any  one 


33°  TEbe  Hr t ot  tbe  IDenice  HcabeniE 


but  this  long-featured,  dreamy-eyed  youth  with  the 
high,  square  forehead  and  straight  brows  to  coun- 
terbalance the  overfull  lips  and  slightly  too  thick 
chin.  It  is  a portrait,  in  other  words,  of  a living 
man,  so  vividly  executed  that  it  comes  to  us  like 
a revelation. 

Roger  Van  der  Weyden  was  born  probably  in 
1400  at  Tournay.  He  settled  early  in  Brussels, 
however,  and  it  is  that  town  which  became  the 
seat  of  the  school  of  art  claiming  him  as  founder. 
It  is  uncertain  whether  he  received  direct  lessons 
from  the  Van  Eycks,  or  whether  he,  like  all  the 
painters  of  his  day  and  region,  merely  fell  under 
their  influence.  In  1449  he  went  to  Italy,  and  it 
is  this  journey  which  has  been  credited  with  being 
the  original  cause  of  the  introduction  into  the  art 
of  Flanders  of  certain  Italian  tendencies. 

Van  der  Weyden's  art  is  more  animated,  more 
brusque,  more  exaggerated  than  Van  Eyck’s.  He 
elongates  his  forms  often  to  excess,  he  has  much 
less  poise,  and  far  less  serenity  than  the  older  man. 
At  his  best,  nevertheless,  he  has  a real  power  of 
pathos  and  suggestiveness  that  shows  him  worthy 
of  being  the  teacher  of  Memlinc,  which  is  after  all 
his  greatest  claim  on  the  gratitude  of  posterity. 

In  Room  8 is  another  excellent  portrait,  which 
is  ascribed  somewhat  questioningly  to  Antonis  Mor. 
It  is  a half-length  figure  of  an  elderly  woman  fac- 


IRoom  ID1K  — Sala  Dei  Caliot 


331 


ing  three-quarters  to  the  right,  dressed  in  black, 
wearing  a white  cap  and  cuffs  and  frill  around  her 
neck.  Her  right  hand  is  resting  on  a table  covered 
with  a gray  cloth.  About  her  waist  is  a gold  chain, 
and  rings  are  on  her  fingers.  It  is  a portrait  that 
is  full  of  life  and  character,  painted  with  the  Dutch 
attention  to  detail.  She  has  small,  sharp  eyes, 
nostrils  decidedly  curved  and  cut  under,  closely 
closed  lips,  and  strongly  marked  corners  of  the 
mouth.  The  flesh-tones  are  luminous  and  of  ex- 
cellent colour,  the  shadows  warm  and  unforced. 
The  hands  are  beautifully  drawn  and  modelled. 
Certain  technical  attributes  of  the  picture  have  sug- 
gested Tintoretto’s  brush  to  some  critics,  but  Tin- 
toret  seldom  or  never  showed  such  finish  of  parts. 

Mor  was  born  in  Utrecht  in  1512  or  thereabouts, 
and  was  a pupil  of  Jan  Van  Scorel,  who  had  been 
in  Italy  and  who  had  attempted  to  inoculate  his 
pupils  with  a mixture  of  Raphael  and  Michelangelo, 
highly  seasoned  with  the  idiosyncrasies  personal  to 
himself  as  well  as  to  the  Northland.  Anton  Mor, 
however,  was  too  great  a spirit  to  be  annihilated 
by  any  such  training.  He  remained  as  M.  Alex- 
andre notes,  always  a pure  Hollander,  the  Italian 
influence  only  adding  a charm  to  the  Dutch  char- 
acteristics. His  portraits  are  remarkable  tran- 
scriptions of  nature,  with  no  detail  omitted,  yet 
with  nothing  so  emphasized  as  to  detract  from  the 


332  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  tDentce  Hcabems 


main  point,  the  real  character  portrayed.  Of  all 
the  painters  of  the  early  Dutch  school  he  had  the 
strongest  feeling  for  beauty  and  grace. 

Neither  the  Hermit  by  Matthew  Bril  nor  the 
View  of  Tivoli  by  his  brother  Paul,  both  in  Room 
6,  gives  much  idea  of  the  talent  of  these  two  Ital- 
ianized Flemings.  They  do  show  to  some  extent, 
however,  the  general  characteristics  of  the  two 
men  who  were  employed  by  Gregory  XIII.,  by 
Sixtus  V.,  and  by  Clement  VIII.  in  decorating 
chambers  and  halls  in  the  Vatican  and  Sistine 
Chapel.  Matthew  died  in  1584,  when  thirty-six 
years  old,  but  Paul  lived  longer  and  achieved  great 
distinction.  It  is  said  that  his  influence  can  be 
traced  in  some  of  Claude  Lorrain’s  canvases.  Bril’s 
colouring  was  marked  by  a strongly  insistent  note 
of  green  that  had  a tendency  in  foliage  and  grass 
to  become  too  blue.  He  displays  a firm,  free  han- 
dling, distributes  his  light  and  shade  with  a prac- 
tised eye,  and  has  a certain  poetry  in  composition 
that,  while  at  times  it  borders  on  the  grandiose,  is 
generally  as  pleasing  as  it  seems  natural. 

There  are  seven  pictures  in  Room  6 which  are 
ascribed  perhaps  rather  doubtfully  to  Cornelis  de 
Wael.  Of  them  all  the  Soldiers  Resting  is  more 
nearly  characteristic  of  this  artist  who  is  best 
known  as  a painter  of  historical  battles  and  animals. 
Wael,  though  Antwerp  born,  acquired  much  of  his 


IRoom  m.  — Bala  Dei  Gallot 


333 


education  in  Italy,  and  it  was  there  that  he  won 
the  reputation  which  in  his  day,  the  first  half  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  was  considerable.  His 
horses  are  drawn  with  much  spirit  and  truth,  and 
he  expressed  with  no  little  dramatic  fire  the  rush 
and  onslaught  of  contending  armies. 

Adriaen  Van  Ostade,  who,  was  one  of  the  great- 
est “ little  masters  ” of  Holland,  has  one  poor  ex- 
ample of  his  style  in  Room  6.  It  is  an  Interior  of 
an  Inn,  and  shows  two  men  in  the  foreground 
sitting  at  a table,  one  holding  a glass  in  one  hand, 
a pitcher  in  the  other.  The  second  is  not  interested 
in  food,  but  is  devoting  his  attention  to  playing 
his  violin.  Near  them  stands  a third  calmly  ob- 
serving while  he  smokes  his  pipe.  In  the  distance 
near  a door  three  other  peasants  sit  drinking  about 
a table. 

Van  Ostade  had  a facility  of  execution  not  far 
behind  that  of  Hals,  of  whom  he  was  a pupil.  He 
had  beside  a marvellous  gift  for  composition,  a 

f 

colour  sense  as  glowing,  deep,  and  rich  as  Rem- 
brandt’s, and  at  times  surpassing  that  master  in 
the  luminous  colour-notes  in  his  shadows.  He 
had  a pencil  that  drew  with  astonishing  perfec- 
tion and  reality,  and  above  and  beyond  all,  a vi- 
tality and  actuality  of  perception  and  execution. 
These  last  two  qualities,  actuality  and  vitality,  are 
what  make  his  scenes  of  Dutch  peasant  life  so  full 


334  TLbc  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Hcafcems 


of  power  that  the  spectator  feels  as  if  he  were  taken 
straight  into  the  lives  of  these  humble  citizens. 

His  brother  Isack  at  first  imitated  Adriaen  al- 
most exclusively,  and  his  picture  here  of  the  Man 
Drinking,  in  the  same  room,  is  an  example  of  his 
early  style.  Later  he  developed  his  own  individ- 
uality, and  now  he  is  best  known  as  the  painter  of 
winter  outdoor  scenes  of  Holland.  A none  too 
good  specimen  of  this  class  of  his  work  is  also  in 
the  same  room. 

Adam  Elsheimer,  one  of  the  few  Germans  to 
reach  even  second-rate  rank  as  a painter  after  the 
death  of  Durer  and  Holbein,  has  one  tiny  canvas 
in  Room  8,  which  may  or  may  not  be  actually  by 
him.  It  is  St.  Peter  Denying  Christ,  and  shows 
at  least  some  characteristics,  in  its  careful  work- 
manship and  brightness  of  tone,  especially,  of  the 
man  whose  works  both  Rembrandt  and  the  elder 
Teniers  studied.  Elsheimer  was  born  in  Frank- 
fort in  1574,  but  almost  all  his  life  was  spent  in 
Italy,  so  that  from  one  point  of  view  he  can  hardly 
be  called  an  exponent  of  German  art.  He  was 
never,  however,  a copyist  of  Italian  painters.  In 
fact,  he  followed  no  one  either  in  style  or  subject. 
His  works  are  almost  all  very  small,  and  are  fin- 
ished with  such  extreme  care  and  minute  pains- 
taking that  it  is  no  wonder  he  left  so  few  behind 
him.  He  is  chiefly  known  as  the  painter  of  land- 


IRoont  m.  — Sala  Del  Callot 


335 


scapes,  which  are  but  the  settings  for  historical 
or  religious  scenes.  As  the  whole  composition 
frequently  measures  less  than  a foot  square,  his 
figures  are  of  necessity  extremely  small.  They  are 
capitally  drawn,  however,  and  equally  admirable 
is  his  rendering  of  trees,  fields,  running  water, 
grass,  and  sky.  He  was  extremely  fond  of  startling 
contrasts  of  light  and  shade,  and  precedes  Rem- 
brandt in  his  treatment  of  chiaroscuro. 

A Woman  Fainting,  in  Room  8,  is  now  ascribed 
to  Jan  Ochter veldt,  though  it  was  formerly  supposed 
to  be  a Terborch.  Near  a table  with  a red  cover  a 
woman  lies  on  the  floor  in  a white  satin  robe,  her 
breast  uncovered,  her  head  on  cushions,  her  eyes 
closed,  the  abandonment  of  her  figure  showing  she 
is  quite  unconscious.  Two  other  women  are  about 
her  in  anxious  attendance,  and  farther  back  at  the 
right  a doctor  is  showing  a bottle  to  a servant.  At 
the  left  two  other  servants  are  admitting  a visitor. 

Jan  Ochterveldt,  born,  it  is  supposed,  at  Rotter- 
dam somewhere  near  1635,  is  called  an  imitator  and 
pupil  of  Metzu,  but  his  work  often  recalls  more 
forcibly  both  Pieter  de  Hooch  and  Gerard  Terborch. 
He  followed  Terborch’s  method  of  chiaroscuro 
more  or  less  skilfully,  and  his  colour,  though  grayer 
than  either  of  the  others,  partakes  now  of  one  and 
then  of  another  of  the  three. 

The  Study  of  a Writer,  in  Room  8,  was  once 


336  tTbe  Brt  of  tbe  tDenice  Bcabemp 


thought  to  be  by  Rembrandt.  It  is  now  called  by 
Thomas  Wyck,  who  is  better  known  as  an  etcher 
than  as  a painter.  He  was  born  in  Haarlem,  in 
1616,  but  is  supposed  to  have  worked  a great  deal 
in  Italy,  the  subjects  of  his  pictures  seeming  to  be 
proof  of  this.  He  painted  seaports  and  ruins  on 
the  seashore,  but  it  is  as  the  painter  of  alchemists 
in  their  studies  that  he  is  seen  at  his  best.  His 
handling  of  light  in  those  compositions  has  been 
likened  to  Rembrandt’s  in  similar  subjects,  and 
other  pictures  by  him  besides  this  here  have  been 
ascribed  to  the  more  famous  man. 

This  one  represents  the  interior  of  a small  study, 
full  of  books  and  papers.  At  a table,  in  nearly  full 
face,  is  the  scholar,  writing  in  a huge  book  before 
him.  He  is  clad  in  a great  coat  with  red  cuffs.  A 
window,  which  lights  the  scene,  breaks  one  of  the 
walls,  and  at  the  left  is  a large  map  of  the  world. 

Of  the  four  pictures  in  Room  6 which  have  been 
attributed  to  Van  Dyck,  not  one  is  unquestionably 
his.  The  portrait  of  a small  girl  holding  an  apple, 
and  dressed  in  a dark  blue  silk  frock,  with  a white 
cap  and  apron,  has  been  frankly  called  a copy  of 
a portion  of  one  of  the  portraits  which  Van  Dyck 
executed  for  the  Stuart  family,  the  original  being, 
according  to  the  catalogue,  in  the  Royal  Gallery  at 
Turin. 

The  two  small  heads  of  sleeping  children  are 


tRoom  M.-Saia  bei  Callot 


337 


charming  in  colour  and  line,  and  show  much  of 
that  fresh,  free  touch  so  peculiarly  Van  Dyck’s 
own.  But  they  are  probably,  or  very  likely,  by 
some  imitator  rather  than  by  Van  Dyck  himself. 

The  Christ  on  the  Cross  is  more  certainly  his, 
though  M.  Jules  Guiffrey  does  not  catalogue  it 
in  his  list  of  Van  Dyck’s  achievements.  To  all 
except  the  most  discriminating  and  accomplished 
critic,  however,  this  little  canvas  seems  almost  as 
worthy  of  the  painter  as  the  one  in  Antwerp,  and 
fully  up  to  the  level  of  the  less  disputed  Crucifixion 
in  the  Borghese.  Van  Dyck  repeated  many  of  his 
compositions  over  and  over  again.  First,  un- 
doubtedly, because  actual  repetition  of  this  or  that 
scene  already  painted  was  demanded  by  his  patrons. 
Second,  because  Van  Dyck’s  creative  powers  were 
not  those  of  a great  painter.  Originality  in  com- 
position was  not  his  to  any  extreme  degree.  He 
frequently  copied  the  well-known  compositions  of 
Rubens  almost  without  the  addition  or  change  of 
a single  point.  The  fact,  however,  that  he  could 
produce  so  many  of  these  simple,  unattended  Cru- 
cifixions, and  yet  keep  in  each,  as  it  were,  the  orig- 
inal point  of  view,  so  that  each  seems  to  have 
sprung  from  his  brain  with  all  the  power  and  fer- 
vour and  direct  appeal  of  a first  impression,  is  a 
proof  of  the  histrionic  ability  of  Van  Dyck. 

The  canvas  here  is  very  small,  measuring  a little 


33s  Ube  Hrt  of  tbe  Uentce  Hcabems 


over  two  feet  square.  Against  a lurid  sky,  with 
the  horizon  line  near  the  base  of  the  cross,  which 
is  reared  high,  reaching  nearly  the  top  of  the  can- 
vas, is  the  Crucified  One.  His  arms  are  out- 
stretched, pinned  by  iron  staples  to  the  cross-bar, 
his  feet  nailed  together  on  the  upright  beam.  He 
is  nude  save  for  the  loin-cloth.  There  is  nothing 
above  or  below  him  to  indicate  his  connection  with 
the  world  of  man  except  the  fluttering  placard 
nailed  above  his  head,  bearing  the  mocking  jibe 
of  his  executioners.  His  head  has  sunken  back  on 
to  his  shoulder,  his  mouth  is  open,  his  eyes  turned 
upwards  in  a very  agony  of  pleading  despair.  No- 
where, however,  in  that  nobly  lined  face  is  there 
any  puerility  or  weakness. 

Van  Dyck  has  focused  the  light  sharply  on  the 
body  from  the  chest  down  on  to  the  thighs.  The 
face  and  arms  and  lower  parts  of  the  legs  are  in 
a half-tone  that  deepens  on  the  left  side  of  the 
figure  into  a widening  line  of  shadow.  With  the 
angry,  murky  sky  for  background,  this  centraliz- 
ing of  the  light  gives  a dramatic  quality  that  is  one 
of  the  most  noticeable  of  Van  Dyck’s  character- 
istics. The  body  of  Christ  is  that  of  a young,  per- 
fectly developed,  rarely  beautiful  man.  About  him 
is  no  sign  of  asceticism  or  emaciation.  He  is  shown 
in  the  full  glory  of  life,  nailed  to  the  cross  of 
death.  The  poignant  power  of  this  figure  has 


mom  tDI.  — Sala  Dei  dallot 


339 


rarely  been  equalled,  still  more  seldom  excelled. 
Perhaps  only  Rembrandt  touched  a higher,  more 
divine  expression. 

Technically,  those  little  Crucifixions  of  Van 
Dyck  are  equal  to>  his  best  works.  The  flesh  is 
painted  with  the  full,  soft,  sure  brush,  with  that 
plastic  touch  that  belonged  to  Van  Dyck  both  by 
right  of  his  training  under  Rubens  and  by  his  as- 
similation of  the  methods  of  the  Italians.  The 
colour  is  clear,  silvery,  almost  opalescent,  in  its 
exquisite  gradations,  the  modelling  simple,  smooth, 
inevitable,  the  drawing  accurate  but  not  slavish, 
with  that  spring  of  line  and  life  of  curve  that  were 
perhaps  Van  Dyck’s  alone,  neither  inherited  nor 
acquired. 

Anton  Van  Dyck  was  born  in  Antwerp  in  1599 
and  died  in  London  in  1641.  Below  Rubens  as 
historical  painter  and  far  below  him  in  creative 
genius,  he  outranks  him  as  a portrait-painter.  In 
that  line,  indeed,  he  has  been  called  the  leader  of 
the  world.  While  that  is  perhaps  hardly  the  criti- 
cal opinion  that  can  stand,  he  was  unquestionably 
one  of  the  greatest  painters  of  aristocracy  that  ever 
lived.  To'  all  his  sitters  he  gave  a courtly  air  that 
changed  his  simple  squires  and  burghers  into  prince 
and  noble.  He  was  the  favourite  painter  of  Charles 
I.  of  England,  and  his  very  greatest  portraits  are 
of  that  king  and  his  children.  The  court  that 


340  ube  Brt  of  tbe  Dentce  Hcabemp 

Cromwell  overthrew  exists  more  vividly  on  the 
canvases  of  the  Fleming  than  in  any  page  of  his- 
tory. There  is  about  all  his  best  works  a brilliance 
and  a personal  charm,  a something  that  takes  one 
captive  whether  one  will  or  no.  And  if  it  is  as  a 
portrait-painter  that  he  ranks  highest,  some  of  his 
religious  scenes  have  a piety,  a personal,  vibrating 
note  of  appeal  that  place  them,  emotionally,  at 
least,  on  a higher  level  than  those  of  Rubens. 

The  one  picture  in  the  Academy  which  has  been 
ascribed  to  Metzu  is  more  than  likely  by  some  in- 
ferior workman.  It  is  in  Room  8,  and  is  called 
A Woman  Sleeping.  The  subject  of  the  scene  is 
sitting  in  a chamber  in  full  face,  dressed  in  a red 
skirt,  blue  apron,  and  violet  waist,  a white  shawl 
over  her  shoulders,  and  a white  bonnet  on  her  head. 
Her  eyes  are  closed,  her  left  elbow  rests  on  the 
table  beside  her,  and  her  hands  are  crossed.  The 
open  book  on  her  knees  evidently  could  not  hold 
her  attention,  nor,  judging  from  the  commonplace, 
stolid  lines  of  her  face,  does  one  wonder!  There 
is  little  or  none  of  the  delicate  atmospheric  envelope 
that  is  so  characteristic  of  Metzu,  and  both  the 
composition  and  the  colouring  are  far  below  his 
standard. 

Gabriel  Metzu  was  born  in  Leyden  probably 
about  1630,  and  was  a pupil  of  Gerard  Dou.  His 
works  partake  more  of  the  style  of  Terborch,  how- 


IRoom  m\.  — Saia  bel  Callot 


341 


ever,  and  it  is  thought  that  the  influence  of  Steen, 
who  was  an  intimate  friend,  can  be  felt  in  some 
of  them.  As  a rule,  Metzu,  like  Terborch,  chose 
oftenest  for  representation  scenes  from  so-called 
“ polite  society.”  Occasionally,  too,  he  painted  a 
Market  Day  or  a Country  Fair  with  all  the  bril- 
liance and  truth  and  with  none  of  the  vulgarity  of 
a Steen.  Generally,  however,  he  is  seen  at  his 
best  in  parlour  or  boudoir  interiors,  where  the  rich 
furniture,  soft  satin  gowns,  and  dainty  or  aristo- 
cratic accessories  all  add  to  the  effect  of  ease  and 
luxury  that  none  of  the  “ little  masters  ” could 
better  portray  than  he.  Critics  are  not  apt  to  place 
him  on  so  high  a plane  as  Terborch,  yet  it  is  in- 
contestable that  his  domain  was  larger,  and  that 
he  was  fully  equal  to  him  as  draughtsman  and  col- 
ourist, nor  did  he  fall  behind  him  in  his  use  of 
chiaroscuro'. 

In  Room  8 two  canvases  by  one  other  of  these 
Northern  men  display  his  talents  a little  more  ade- 
quately. The  first  of  these,  Grace  before  Meals, 
though  not  one  of  his  noted  works,  does  give  some 
idea  of  the  style  and  ability  of  Jan  Steen  in  his 
more  restrained  and  quieter  mood.  It  shows  the 
interior  of  a country  family’s  dining-room,  its  walls 
hung  with  domestic  utensils,  baskets,  kettles,  hats, 
a banjo,  a picture  or  two.  At  the  left  is  a double 
window,  one-half  with  its  latticed  panes  closed, 


342  xibe  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcabemi? 


the  other  open  to  sky  and  trees,  a bit  of  grape-vine 
falling  in  from  its  framing.  In  the  left  centre  is 
the  table  spread  with  the  rough,  homely  peasant 
meal.  The  father  sits  on  one  side,  his  chair  pushed 
far  back,  his  elbow  on  his  knees,  holding  his  tall, 
felt  hat  before  his  face.  Opposite  him  is  his  wife, 
dressed  in  a red  skirt,  blue  waist,  and  white  ker- 
chief, holding  a white-capped  nursing  baby  in  her 
arms,  while  a second  little  tot  stands  beside  her. 
Between  the  father  and  mother,  facing  the  spec- 
tator, stands  the  heir  of  the  family,  cap  in  his 
awkward  hands  held  against  his  blouse,  saying  the 
blessing  before  the  meal.  It  is  a very  serious,  pro- 
found effort,  to  judge  from  his  worried,  intent 
expression.  The  management  of  light  here  is  char- 
acteristic of  Steen.  It  falls  exactly  and  inevitably 
upon  the  precise  places  that  need  emphasis.  It 
strikes  only  the  top  of  the  bowed  head  of  the  father, 
but  plays  fully  over  the  mother’s  face  and  breast 
and  the  baby  in  her  arms.  The  boy’s  shoulder  and 
cheek  and  forehead  are  brought  out  sharply,  also, 
with  a half-shadow  over  his  thick  lips  and  stubby 
nose.  And  finally,  at  the  right,  the  family  dog, 
licking  up  the  spilled  porridge,  is  in  the  direct  rays 
that  come  in  from  the  open  window,  thus  ad- 
mirably completing  and  balancing  the  composition. 

There  is,  from  one  point  of  view,  nothing  beau- 
tiful about  this  picture.  The  peasant  types  have 


GRACE  BEFORE 


iRoorn  M.  — gala  fcei  Callot 


343 


no  charm  of  line  or  contour,  the  ugly  furniture 
and  coarse  fare  are  what  no  well-recognized  “ can- 
ons of  art  ” would  ever  admit  in  a picture.  Yet 
charm  there  is  in  plenty,  and  poetry,  too,  of  a truer, 
more  real,  and  penetrating  rhythm  than  in  all  the 
productions  of  the  so-called  classic  school.  The 
handling  of  the  light,  the  homely  pathos  of  the  situ- 
ation, the  intensity  of  the  actuality  of  presentation, 
— these  after  all  are  what  are  more  essential  to 
real  art  than  all  the  prescribed  rules  of  beauty. 

The  second  picture  is  called  the  Astrologer’s 
Family.  It  is  an  interior  again,  with  a woman, 
dressed  in  a 3>ellow  skirt,  gray  waist,  and  white 
veil,  turning  to  the  left  listening  to  the  astrologer 
reading  from  a volume  which  he  holds  in  his  left 
hand.  He  is  clad  in  a brown  greatcoat,  green 
head-dress,  and  black  bonnet.  At  the  right  are 
four  children  and  at  the  left  two  men,  one  poking 
the  fire,  the  other  writing.  In  the  foreground  at 
the  right  is  a dog  drinking  from  a porringer.  This 
is  of  less  interest  and  of  le£s  artistic  value  than  the 
other. 

Jan  Steen  was  born  in  Leyden  near  1626  and 
died  in  1679.  He  was  a pupil  of  Adriaen  Van 
Ostade,  and  it  is  probably  from  him  that  he  ob- 
tained his  remarkable  understanding  of  chiaros- 
curo, the  secrets  of  composition,  and  the  power  of 
making  colours  glow  and  gleam  with  a brilliancy 


344  Ube  Brt  of  tbe  IDenice  Bcabems 


quite  independent  of  their  highness  of  key.  His 
subjects,  too,  were  chosen  largely  from  the  same 
source  as  Van  Ostade’s,  — the  daily  life  of  the 
people  of  Holland.  But  here  resemblance  largely 
ceases.  It  is  never  Ostade’s  point  of  view  that 
Steen  presents.  Never  Ostade’s  nor  any  one’s  but 
his  own.  He  has  been  likened  to  the  English 
Hogarth,  but  after  all  he  was  entirely  different. 
If  he  moralized  when  he  showed  his  countrymen 
drinking  and  carousing  in  low  pot-houses,  his  pic- 
tures do  not  show  it.  He  was  as  impersonal  an 
observer,  one  feels,  as  was  ever  Shakespeare,  and 
he  could  be  as  absolute  and  unbiassed  a chronicler 
when  showing  the  wholesome,  daily  home  life  of 
reputable  earnest  citizens  as  in  depicting  a drunken 
brawl  or  vulgar  country  dance.  It  was  life,  life 
as  he  saw  it  and  as  it  actually  existed  that  he  was 
most  interested  in,  and  that  he  insistently  por- 
trayed. If  in  many  of  his  scenes  there  is  felt  to  be 
a satirical  glee  that  critics  have  compared  to  the 
cynicism  of  Moliere,  it  is  there,  if  one  may  so  ex- 
press it,  rather  by  the  very  nature  of  the  case  than 
because  it  represents  Steen’s  own  particular  atti- 
tude. Joined  to  an  extraordinary  keenness  of  ob- 
servation, he  had  a remarkable  power  for  telling 
a story,  and  this  power  his  mastery  of  the  laws  of 
composition  continually  augmented.  No  Dutch- 
man has  ever  equalled  him  in  his  distribution  of 


IRoom  ID  1L  - Sala  Del  Callot 


345 


mass,  in  his  balance  of  parts,  in  his  understanding 
and  proper  presentation  of  climax. 

So  much  of  Steen’s  work  deals  with  the  lowest 
life  in  Holland  that  he  has  been  credited  with  being 
himself  a roysterer,  a vagabond,  and  a drunkard. 
Modern  exploration  in  old  documents  and  musty 
records  has  pretty  well  demonstrated  that  he  has 
been  most  unjustly  maligned.  The  very  volume 
of  his  works,  which  Smith  catalogues  as  over  five 
hundred,  it  would  seem,  ought  alone  to  disprove 
the  charge.  For  most  of  these  pictures  are  little 
below  his  own  high  average,  and  a drunken  arm 
and  unsteady  eye  could  surely  never  have  produced 
them. 

There  is  one  portrait  in  Room  8 which  the  new 
catalogue  ascribes  to  Hans  Memlinc,  but  which 
Lafenestre  and  others  still  call  an  Antonello  da 
Messina.  It  seems  to  be  a mixture  of  the  manner 
of  Roger  Van  der  Weyden  and  Menlinc.  It  repre- 
sents a youth  depicted  only  to  his  chest,  facing 
three-quarters  to  the  left,  his  right  hand  resting  on 
the  edge  of  the  frame  at  the  left  lower  corner.  The 
lack  of  construction  in  this  hand  and  wrist  is  in 
strong  contrast  to  the  careful  accuracy  in  the  treat- 
ment of  the  face,  neck,  and  shoulders.  The  young 
man  has  on  a close-fitting,  high-buttoned  coat, 
showing  a bit  of  white  at  the  throat.  A round  cap 
is  on  the  back  of  his  head,  displaying  to  its  utmost 


346  Ube  Brt  o t tbe  IDentce  Bcabems 


the  full  waving  hair  banged  across  his  forehead 
and  coming  to  the  base  of  his  neck  and  almost 
covering  his  ear.  His  nose  is  long,  straight,  and 
rather  thick,  his  under  lip  full,  his  eyes  slightly 
lowered,  with  heavy  upper  lids,  under  straight, 
widely  separated  eyebrows.  Back  of  him  is  a land- 
scape background.  The  expression  is  pensive,  and 
the  whole  effect  is  that  the  picture  must  have  been 
a wonderful  portrait.  If  by  any  chance  it  is  by 
Antonello  it  is  far  and  away  better  than  the  other 
two  panels  credited  to  him  in  the  Academy. 


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Simonson,  George  A.  — Francesco  Guardi. 

Smith,  John.  — A Catalogue  Riasonnd  of  the  Works  of  the 
Most  Eminent  Dutch,  Flemish,  and  French  Painters. 

Spooner,  Shearjashub.  — Dictionary  of  Painters,  En- 
gravers, Sculptors,  and  Architects. 

Stanley,  George.  — Synopsis  of  Dutch  and  Flemish 
Painters. 

Stearns,  Frank  Preston  — Life  and  Genesis  of  Jacopo 
Robusti. 

Stranahan,  C.  H.  — A History  of  French  Painting. 

Sturgis,  Russell.  — Dr.  Wilhelm  Liibke’s  Outline  of  the 
History  of  Art. 

Taine,  H.  — Voyage  en  Italie. 

Taine,  H.  — Lectures  on  Art,  Translated  by  John  Durand. 

Thayer,  William  Roscoe.  — A Short  History  of  Venice. 

Thode,  Henry.  — Tintoretto.  In  Kiinstler  Monographien. 

Viardot,  Louis. — Les  Musdes  d’ltalie. 

Waagen,  G.  F.  — Kugler’s  Handbook  of  Painting:  German, 
Flemish,  and  Dutch  Schools. 

Waters,  W.  G.  — Piero  della  Francesco. 


Btbliograpbs 


351 


Wauters,  A.  J. — La  Peinture  Flamende. 

Wiele,  Marguerite  Van  de.  — Les  Freres  Van  Ostade. 
Wedmore,  Frederick.  — The  Masters  of  Genre  Painting. 
Woltmann  and  Woekmann. — History  of  Painting. 
Yriarte,  Charles.  — Paul  Veronese. 

Zacher,  Albert.  — Venice  as  an  Art  City. 

Zanotto,  FRANgois.  — Edifices  et  Monuments  Remarqua- 
bles  de  Venise. 


fnber 


Alexandre,  M.,  52,  92,  307,  331. 
Aliotti,  Cherubino,  21. 

Angelico,  Fra,  24-25,  57,  71. 
Anton ello  da  Messina,  48,  58,  60- 
62,  345,  346 ; Ecce  Homo,  58- 
59 ; Annunciation,  58,  59-60. 
Antonio  Veneziano,  25-26,  29; 

Triptych,  26. 

Aretino,  165. 

Barbari,  74. 

Bartolommeo  Vivarini.  See  Vi- 
varini,  Bartolommeo). 

Basaiti,  Marco,  76-77,  207  ; Dead 
Christ,  75,  76;  St.  Anthony 
and  St.  James,  75,  76;  Scene 
at  Gethsemane,  131-132;  St. 
George  and  the  Dragon,  132- 
133;  Calling  of  the  Sons  of 
Zebedee,  170-17 1. 

Bassano,  Francesco,  246,  248, 
297. 

Bassano,  Jacopo,  244-246,  297. 
Bassano,  Leandro,  244,  246,  297 ; 
Resurrection  of  Lazarus,  246- 
248;  Doge  Marcantonio 
Memmi,  246,  248-249. 
Bastiani,  99,  tot.  T23,  126,  133; 
Gift  of  the  True  Cross,  101- 
102. 

Battista.  See  Piazzetta. 
Beccaruzzi,  Francesco,  326;  St. 
Francis  Receiving  the  Stig- 
mata, 326-327. 


Bellini,  Gentile,  57,  79,  81,  92- 
97, 101,  102,  103,  104,  109, 141, 
165 ; Doge  Lorenzo  Giusti- 
niani,  92  ; Legends  of  the  True 
Cross,  94-97. 

Bellini,  Giovanni,  48,  49,  57,  61, 
62,  68,  70,  74,  76,  77,  78,  79, 
81-83,  92,  9 3>  IOI>  i04>  *05, 
118,  121,  123,  129,  131,  132, 
I35>  137,  138,  i39>  r58’  i65> 
168,  169,  192,  200,  202,  206, 
207,  213,  244,  272;  nine  ex- 
amples of  Madonna  and 
Child,  83-89 ; five  allegorical 
subjects,  89-91  ; Madonna  of 
San  Giobbe,  1 54-1 57. 

Bellini,  Jacopo,  79-80,  92,  141, 
144,  213;  Madonna  and  Child, 
79,  80-81. 

Bellini  family,  44,  66,  1 18,  197, 
206. 

Bello,  Marco,  131 ; Madonna  and 
Child,  etc.,  131. 

Berenson,  Bernhard,  43,  48,  49, 
52,  58,  61,  62,  68,  71,  74,  1 15, 
139,  I42,  146,  I79,  189,  201, 
203,  204,  205,  209,  217,  245, 
258,  282,  315. 

Bernasconi,  275. 

Bissolo,  Pier  Francesco,  27,  138  ; 
Coronation  of  St.  Catherine, 
136-137;  Dead  Body  of 
Jesus,  etc.,  137  ; Presentation 
in  the  Temple,  137;  Vir- 


353 


354 


fln&ei 


gin  and  Child,  etc.,  137- 
138. 

Blanc,  Charles,  187,  210,  250, 

254,311- 

Blashfield  and  Hopkins,  117, 
160,  189. 

Boccaccino,  Boccaccio,  62,  66- 
67 ; Marriage  of  St.  Cather- 
ine, 62-64  » Madonna  and 
Child,  65 ; Christ  and  the 
Doctors,  65;  Christ  Washing 
the  Feet  of  the  Disciples, 
66. 

Bonifazio  (I.,  II.,  III.),  vi,  176, 
205,  245,  271-275  ; Rich  Man’s 
Feast,  272,  275-279,  284; 
Judgment  of  Solomon,  279- 
280  ; Adorations  of  the  Magi, 
280;  Woman  Taken  in  Adul- 
tery, 280-281  ; Massacre  of 
the  Innocents,  281-282  ; Jesus 
and  Philip,  etc.,  282-283 ; 
Christ  Enthroned,  283-284 ; 
Madonna  in  Glory,  etc.,  284 ; 
various  panels,  284. 

Bonvincino,  Alessandro.  See 
Moretto  da  Brescia. 

Bordone,  Paris,  vi,  285,  326 ; 
Fisherman  Returning  the 
Ring,  284,  286-290;  Paradise, 
285-286. 

Botticelli,  69. 

Bril,  Matthew,  332;  The  Her- 
mit, 332. 

Bril,  Paul,  332 ; View  of  Tivoli, 
332. 

Burckhardt,  135,  285. 

Busi,  Giovanni  de’.  See  Cariani. 

Cagliari,  Benedetto,  249 ; Last 
Supper,  249,  250;  Christ  Be- 
fore Pilate,  249,  250. 

Cagliari,  Carletto,  vi,  190,  249; 
Way  to  Calvary,  250-251. 

Cagliari,  Paolo.  See  Veronese. 

Campagnola,  Domenico,  22. 

Canale,  Antonio,  31 2-314  ; Scu- 
ola  Grande  of  S.  Marco,  314. 

Canaletto.  See  Canale,  Antonio. 


Caravaggio,  149-15°*  I5I>  311 5 
Homer,  148-149. 

Cardi,  Ludovico,  320. 

Cariani,  203 ; Portrait  of  a Man 
(two  examples),  203,  258; 

Holy  Conversation,  203-205 ; 
Mother  and  Child,  etc.,  204, 
205;  Portrait  of  a Woman, 
261-262. 

Carpaccio,  Vittore,  61,  97,  98, 
101,  102,  103-105,  123,  132, 
133,  I35>  Life  of  St.  Ursula, 
103,  105-117,  126,  157;  Pres- 
entation, 126,157-161;  Meet- 
ing of  Joachim  and  Anna,  126- 
1 28 ; Crucifixion  of  a Thou- 
sand Christians,  128. 

Carriera,  Rosalba,  303-305 ; 
various  portraits,  303- 
3°4- 

Catena,  77-78,  134,  138,  208; 
St.  Augustine,  77-78 ; St. 
Jerome,  78 ; Madonna  and 
Child,  etc.,  78. 

Cavazzo,  Thomas,  21. 

Chardin,  245. 

Cima  da  Conegliano,  67-69; 
Pieta,  68,  71-72;  Tobias  with 
the  Angel,  etc.,  69-71;  In- 
credulity of  St.  Thomas,  70, 
72-73;  Madonna  Enthroned, 
etc.,  73-75;  St.  Christopher, 
75;  Virgin  Enthroned  with 
Six  Saints,  168-170. 

Contarini,  Giovanni,  293-294 ; 
Venus,  293. 

Cordeliaghi,  206. 

Correggio,  172,  194,  263. 

Cozzi,  Marco,  21. 

Crivelli,  Carlo,  118-120;  St. 
Jerome  and  St.  Augustine, 
120;  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul, 
120-121. 

Crivelli,  Vittore,  121  ; Four 
Saints,  121. 

Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle,  35,  36, 
68,  70,  74,  86,  87,  95,  97,  98, 
133*  I35’  *38,  200,  206,  207, 
263. 


Iln&er 


3SS 


Dario  of  Treviso,  43. 

Diana,  Benedetto,  27,  133—134 ; 
Brethren  Distributing  Alms, 
133;  Madonna  and  Child, 
with  St.  Jerome,  etc.,  134-135  ; 
Virgin  with  Four  Saints,  1 35 — 
1 36 ; Madonna  and  Child 
with  St.  John  the  Baptist,  etc., 
208-209. 

Domenico  Veneziano,  144. 

Donatello,  56-57,  144. 

Donato  Veneziano,  121  ; Pieta, 
1 21  ; Crucifixion,  1 21-122. 

Dou,  Gerard,  340. 

Duccio,  29. 

Diirer,  334. 

Eastlake,  Sir  Charles,  136,  159, 
209,  237,  281. 

Elsheimer,  Adam,  334-335;  St. 
Peter  Denying  Christ,  334. 

Fabriano,  Gentile  da,  26,  29,  38, 
79,  141-143;  Madonna  and 
Child,  1 43-1 44. 

Fabris,  Placido,  Amour  and 
Psyche,  320  ; Portrait  of  the 
Dead  Canova,  320-321 ; Gas- 
par  Craglietto,  321. 

Feti,  Domenico,  319-320,  326; 
Melancholy,  320. 

Fiore,  Jacobello  del,  34;  Coro- 
nation of  the  Virgin,  34-36; 
Justice,  36-37 ; Virgin  and 
Child,  37. 

First  Corridor,  326-327. 

Francesco,  Piero  della.  See  Piero. 

Francia,  68,  147. 

Fry,  Mr.,  84,  85,  89. 

Fyt,  Jan,  321-322;  Dead  Game, 
322. 

Gaddi,  Agnolo,  25. 

Gentile  da  Fabriano.  See  Fa- 
briano. 

Giambone,  38. 

Gianbattista.  See  Piazzetta. 

Gianbellini.  See  Bellini,  Gio- 
vanni. 


Giorgione,  66,  77,  81,  82-83, 
1 18,  138,  139,  157,  165,  167, 
179,  J97>  200,  202,  203,  261, 
263,  285. 

Giotto,  23,  25,  26. 

Giulio  Romano.  See  Romano. 

Goes,  Hugo  Van  der,  328. 

Goya,  301. 

Guardi,  Francesco,  3 12-314; 
Courtyard  of  a Palace,  314- 
315;  S.  Giorgio  Maggiore, 

/ viii,  315. 

Guercino,  31 1. 

Guiffrey,  Jules,  337. 

Hals,  333. 

Hogarth,  307,  344. 

Holbein,  334. 

Hondecoeter,  Gijsbert  d’,  323. 

Hondecoeter,  Melchior  d’,  32  2- 
324- 

Hooch,  Pieter  de,  306,  335. 

Kugler,  34,  44,  206,  209,  245, 
263,  291. 

La  Fosse,  299. 

Lafenestre,  139,  203,  204,  284, 
345- 

Lambertini,  Michele  di  Matteo, 
41-42  ; altar-piece,  41-42. 

Lanzi,  66,  310. 

Layard,  28-29,  l9 7- 

Lazzari,  Francesco,  16. 

Lazzarini,  Gregorio,  298,  302,31 1. 

Le  Brun,  Magdalen,  viii,  324- 
326. 

Leonardo  da  Vinci,  20,  57,  67, 
167,  168,  172,  272. 

Loggia  Palladiana,  319-326, 
328. 

Longhi,  Pietro,  305-307  ; Apoth- 
ecary’s Shop,  307 ; Concert, 
308-309 ; Dancing  Master, 
3°9-310- 

Lorenzo  Veneziano,  27,  29;  An- 
cona, 27-28;  Sts.  Peter  and 
Mark,  28  ; Annunciation,  28- 
29. 


ifn&ei 


356 

Lorrain,  Claude,  332. 

Lotto,  Lorenzo,  49,  167,  200, 
202,  203,  220,  282. 

Ludwig,  Gustave,  274,  275. 

Mansueti,  Giovanni,  97, 101,  102, 
133;  Life  of  St.  Mark,  97-99; 
Healing  of  the  Daughter  of 
Benvenuto,  99-100;  Burial  of 
an  Unbeliever,  100-101 ; Vir- 
gin and  Child  "with  Saints, 
122;  Five  Saints,  122-123. 

Mantegna,  Andrea,  40,  44,  53, 
56-58,  67,79,  81,92,  1 18,  123; 
St.  George  and  the  Dragon, 
53-56,  132. 

Marconi,  Rocco,  138-139;  Jesus 
between  Two  Saints,  139; 
Woman  Taken  in  Adultery, 
139,  209-210;  Descent  from 
the  Cross,  139-140;  Saviour 
between  St.  Peter  and  St.  John, 
210,  292. 

Martino  da  Udine,  33,  196;  Two 
Annunciations,  197-199  ; Holy 
Family,  199-200. 

Marziale,  Marco,  131  ; Supper 
at  Emmaus,  130. 

Masaccio,  25. 

Massari,  Giorgio,  12,  13. 

Mauro,  Antonio,  16. 

Mazza,  222. 

Meldola,  Andrea.  See  Schia- 
vone,  Andrea. 

Memlinc,  Hans,  107,  330,  345- 
346. 

Messina,  Antonello  da.  See  An- 
tonello  da  Messina. 

Metzu,  Gabriel,  335,  340-341  ; 
Woman  Sleeping,  340. 

Michelangelo,  20,  67,  150,  168, 
174,  177,  180,  181,  182,  224, 
230,  242,  244,  263,  272,  296, 
331- 

Molin,  Girolamo,  18. 

Molmenti,  103,  209,  252,  253, 
254,  274,  285,  31 1. 

Monet,  176. 

Montagna,  Bartolommeo,  74, 


1 23-1 24;  Madonna  and  Child, 
etc.,  1 24-1 25;  Jesus  between 
St.  Roch  and  St.  Sebastian, 
125. 

Mor,  Antonis,  331-332  ; Portrait, 
330-33I- 

Morandi,  Gian  Maria,  310. 

Morelli,  43,  52,  61,  66,  70,  77, 
79,  86,  200,  203,  206,  208,  209, 
258,  270,  273,  275,  277,  280, 
283,  284,  285,  291. 

Moretto  da  Brescia,  St.  Peter, 
290;  St.  John  the  Baptist, 
290-291. 

Moschini,  275. 

Muntz,  57,  66. 

Murano,  Da.  See  Vivarini. 

Negretti,  Giacomo.  See  Palma 
Giovane. 

Nelli,  Ottavanio,  142. 

Niccolo  di  Maestro  Pietro,  29-30. 

Nuzi,  Allegretto,  142. 

Ochterveldt,  Jan,  Woman  Faint- 
ing, 335* 

Ostade,  Adriaen  Van,  333-334, 
343-344 ; Interior  of  an  Inn, 
333- 

Ostade,  Isack  Van,  Man  Drink- 
ing, 334. 

Oswaldo,  Prof.  Pietro  Paoletti, 
65,  139,  205,  274. 

Padovanino,  253-255,  326,  327; 
Marriage  Feast  at  Cana,  253, 
255-257. 

Palladio,  1,9-13,  16,  17. 

Palma  Giovane,  vi,  222,  249, 
251-252,  275,  295,  326;  Tri- 
umph of  Death,  252-253; 
Choice  of  the  Twelve  Hun- 
dred, 253. 

Palma  Vecchio,  vi,  62,  76,  138, 
139,  165,  176,  191,  197,  199* 
200-203,  251,  271,  272,  282, 
291  ; Assumption,  201,  262- 
263 ; Christ  and  the  Adulteress, 
201,  260-261  ; St.  Peter  En- 


Tfnfcei 


357 


throned,  201,  258-260;  Holy 
Family,  199-200,  201,  258  ; Por- 
trait of  a Woman,  261-262. 

Parentino,  Virgin  and  Angel  of 
the  Annunciation,  43-44. 

Pellegrino  da  S.  Daniele.  See 
Martino  da  Udine. 

Pennacchi,  Girolamo  (elder), 
Transfiguration,  128,  129; 

Christ  before  the  Doctors, 
1 29-130. 

Pennacchi,  Girolamo  (younger), 
129. 

Pennacchi,  Pier  Maria,  128,  129. 

Perugino,  66,  67. 

Piazzetta,  Giovanni  Battista,  196, 
305,311;  Fortune-teller,  3 1 1— 
312. 

Piero  della  Francesco,  52,  144- 
146;  St.  Jerome,  146-147 

Piombo,  Sebastiano  del,  203. 

Pisanello,  38,  142. 

Ponte,  Jacopo  da.  See  Bassano, 
Jacopo. 

Pordenone,  Giovanni  Antonio 
da,  vi,  33,  197,  263-265;  St. 
Lorenzo  Giustiniani,  etc.,  263, 
265-269;  Madonna  del  Car- 
melo,  269-270 ; Portrait  of  a 
Woman,  271. 

Previtali,  Andrea,  204,  205-206 ; 
Madonna  and  Child,  etc.,  204, 
205-206. 

Raibolini,  Jacopo,  Madonna  and 
Child,  147. 

Raphael,  20,  168,  180,  263,  272, 
292,  298,  331. 

Rembrandt,  167,  243,  245,  268, 

333,  334,  335,  336,  339- 

Ribera,  Jusepe,  151  ; Martyrdom 
of  St.  Bartholomew,  150,  151- 
*53- 

Ricci,  Sebastiano,  298-299  ; Rape 
of  Europa,  298  ; Diana  at  Her 
Bath,  298  ; Healing  of  the  Man 
with  Palsy,  298. 

Ricketts,  1 51 . 

Ridolfi,  326. 


Risegatti,  Antonio,  16. 

Rizzo,  204. 

Robusti,  Domenico.  See  Tinto- 
retto, Domenico. 

Robusti,  Jacopo.  See  Tintoretto. 
Romanino,  197,  291. 

Romano,  Giulio,  320. 

Room  I.,  21-42. 

Room  II.,  154-195. 

Room  III.,  141-153. 

Room  IV.,  249. 

Room  V.,  118-140. 

Rooms  VI.  and  VIII.,  328-346. 
Room  VII.,  196-210,  258. 

Room  IX.,  vi,  219-257,  294. 
Room  X.,  vi,  258-296. 

Room  XI.,  244,  294,  297. 

Room  XII.,  297-302. 

Rooms  XIII.  and  XIV.,  244, 
303-3 1 8. 

Room  XV.,  92-102. 

Room  XVI.,  103-117. 

Room  XVII.,  43-78. 

Room  XVIII.,  79-91. 

Room  XX.,  211-218. 

Rosalba.  See  Camera,  Rosalba. 
Rossetti,  W.  M.,  188. 

Rubens,  188,  337,  339,  340. 
Ruskin,  2,  17,  31,  hi,  158,  168, 
181,  182,  184,  186,  194,  215, 
227,  233,  241,  319,  326. 

Sala  dei  Bassano.  See  Room 

XI. 

Sala  dei  Belliniani.  See  Room  V. 
Sala  dei  Bonifazi.  See  Room  X. 
Sala  dei  Fiamminghi.  See  Room 
VIII. 

Sala  dei  Friulani.  See  Room 

VII. 

Sala  dei  Maestri  Primitivi.  See 
Room  I. 

Sala  dei  Paesista.  See  Room 

XIII. 

Sala  dei  Secoli,  XVII.  and 

XVIII.  See  Room  XII. 

Sala  del  Callot.  See  Room  VI. 
Sala  del  Carpaccio.  See  Room 
XVI. 


35« 


lln&ei 


Sala  del  Tiepolo.  See  Room  XIV. 

Sala  dell’  Assunta.  See  Room  II. 

Sala  della  Presentazione.  See 
Room  XX. 

Sala  di  Gentile  Bellini.  See  Room 
XV. 

Sala  di  Giovanni  Bellini.  See 
Room  XVIII. 

Sala  di  Paolo  Veronese.  See 
Room  IX. 

Sala  Scuole  Varie  Italiane.  See 
Room  III. 

Sansovino,  9,  11. 

Santa  Croce,  Francesco  and  Gi- 
rolamo da,  206-208 ; Vision 
of  Christ  to  the  Magdalen, 
207;  Various  saints,  208; 
Scourging  of  Christ,  208. 

Sassoferrato,  138. 

Savoldo,  134. 

Schiavone,  Andrea,  292-293 ; 
Jesus  Enchained,  292 ; Jesus 
before  Pilate,  292 ; Circum- 
cision, 292. 

Sebastian,  Lazzaro.  See  Bas- 
tiani. 

Second  Corridor,  326,  327. 

Semitecolo,  Niccolo,  29-30 ; Cor- 
onation of  the  Virgin  (1),  30- 
32 ; Virgin  and  Child  Adored 
by  the  Donor,  32  ; Coronation 
of  the  Virgin  (2),  32-33. 

Simone  da  Cusighe,  33  ; Virgin 
of  Pity,  33-34  ; Entombment, 
33- 

Simone  dal  Peron.  See  Simone 
da  Cusighe. 

Simonson,  313. 

Sismondi,  7. 

Smith,  345. 

Snyders,  321,  322. 

Spagnoletto,  Lo.  See  Ribera,  Ju- 
sepe. 

Squarcione,  Francesco,  52,  56, 
118,  128,  129,  134,  135. 

Steen,  Jan,  341,343-345;  Grace 
before  Meals,  341-343;  As- 
trologer’s Family,  343. 

Symonds,  183. 


Teniers,  334. 

Terborch,  306,  335,  340-341. 

Tiepolo,  Domenico,  299. 

Tiepolo,  Giovanni  Battista,  298, 
30I~302,  3°5*312;  Holy  Fam- 
ily Appearing  to  St.  Gaetano, 
299-300;  St.  Joseph  with  the 
Child  Jesus,  etc.,  31 5-317; 
St.  Helena  Finding  the  Holy 
Cross,  317-318;  Brazen  Ser- 
pent, 319. 

Tintoretto,  118,  167,  1 71-172, 
179-185,  186,  188,  189,  191, 
213,  217,  219-221,  235,  244, 
251,  257,  264,  272,  293,  302, 
331 ; Miracle  of  St.  Mark, 
172— 175 ; Death  of  Abel,  1 7 5— 
178  ; Adam  and  Eve,  175-176, 
178-179;  Doge  Alvise  Moce- 
nigo,  221  ; Portrait  of  a Man, 
221—222 ; Antonio  Cappello, 
222;  Marco  Grimani,  222- 
223 ; Andrea  Cappello,  223  ; 
Battista  Morosini,  223;  Virgin 
Enskyed,  etc.,  223-225;  Ma- 
donna, etc.,  Adored  by  Three 
Senators,  225-226;  Pieta,  226- 
227  ; Crucifixion,  227-229 ; Ma- 
donna with  Three  Saints,  etc., 
229-230;  Woman  Taken  in 
Adultery,  230-231. 

Tintoretto,  Domenico,  vi,  294, 
326 ; Pietro  Marcello,  294 ; 
Christ  Scourged,  294 ; Ma- 
donna and  Child,  etc.,  294. 

Titian,  62,  81,  83,  89,  90,  95,  1 18, 
164-168,  172,  176,  179,  180, 
181,  184,  186,  189,  191,  197, 
200,  202,  213,  219,  222,  241, 
244,  245,  254,  256,  261,  263, 
264,  265,  272,  280,  284,  285, 
291,  293,  301,  302,  327;  frieze 
in  Room  III.,  141  ; Assump- 
tion of  the  Virgin,  vii,  161- 
164;  Presentation,  vii,  213- 
216;  John  the  Baptist  in  the 
Desert,  216-217  ; Jacopo  So- 
ranzo,  217-218  ; Pietk,  viii, 
294-296. 


itn&ei 


359 


Tura,  Cosimo,  52;  Madonna  and 
Child,  52-53. 

Udine,  Girolamo  da,  74. 

Udine,  Martino  da.  See  Mar- 
tino. 

Van  Dyck,  Anton,  323,  336,  339- 
340;  Christ  on  the  Cross,  337- 
339- 

Van  Eyck,  Jan,  60,  330. 

Van  Scorel,  Jan,  331. 

Varotari,  Alessandro.  See  Pado- 
vanino. 

Varotari,  Dario,  253. 

Vasari,  25,  26,  35,  57,  60,  77,  81, 
1 13,  145,  165,  167,  200,  203, 
291. 

Vecelli,  Tiziano.  See  Titian. 
Velasquez,  146,  301. 

Veronese,  Paolo,  vi,  93,  104,  179, 
184-190,  249,  250,  251,  253, 
255>  25 7’  291,  293,  299,  301, 
302,  306,  317,  325-326,  327; 
Feast  in  the  House  of  Levi, 
188,  231,  239-244;  Venice  En- 
throned, 190-192;  Holy  Fam- 
ily, 192-195  ; Four  Apostles, 
232 ; People  of  Mira,  etc.,  232  ; 
Life  of  St.  Christina,  232-233; 
Crucifixion,  233-234 ; As- 
sumption of  the  Virgin,  234- 
235,  249;  Virgin  in  Glory,  235- 

236  ; Battle  of  Lepanto,  236- 

237  ; Coronation  of  the  Vir- 
gin, 237-238  ; Annunciation, 
238-239. 

Vicenzo  di  Biagio.  See  Catena. 
Vinci,  Leonardo  da.  See  Leo- 
nardo da  Vinci. 

Vitruvius,  10. 


Vivarini,  Alvise.  See  Vivarini, 
Luigi. 

Vivarini,  Andrea,  39-40,  126. 
Vivarini,  Antonio  (da  Murano), 

37- 39’  4L  44’  48,  79?  Paradise, 

38- 39,  43  ; Virgin  Enthroned, 
21 1-213 

Vivarini,  Bartolommeo,  40,  41, 
43,  44-47,  48  ; Madonna  with 
Four  Saints,  45-46 ; St.  Bar- 
bara, 46-47  ; Mary  Magdalen, 
' 47  ; Scenes  from  the  Life  of 
Jesus,  47. 

Vivarini,  Giovanni,  Paradise,  38- 
39,  43  ; Virgin  Enthroned,  211- 
21 3. 

Vivarini,  Luigi,  22,  43,  44,  48-52, 
61,  66,  68,  71,  74,  76,  77,  86, 
101,  103,  104;  Madonna  and 
Child,  49-51  ; St.  Clare,  51- 
52  ; St.  Sebastian,  68. 

Vivarini,  Quirizio,  40,  41  ; Vir- 
gin Adoring  the  Child,  40-41; 
Ecce  Homo,  41. 

Vivarini,  school  of  the,  37,  79, 
1 1 8. 

Wael,  Cornells  de,  332-333  ; Sol- 
diers Resting,  332. 

Weenix,  J.  B.,  323. 

Weyden,  Roger  Van  der,  330, 
345;  Portrait,  328-330. 
Whistler,  176. 

Wyck,  Thomas;  Study  of  a 
Writer,  335-336. 

Zelotti,  255. 

Zuccato,  Sebastiano,  164. 
Zuccherelli  (Zuccarelli),  Fran- 
cesco, 3 1 0-3 1 1 ; Repose  in 
Egyp^  3I0> 


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